What Happens in Vegas
by Saelia
Summary: Casino, check. Liter of raspberry sangria, check. Impromptu wedding to Will Darcy during a night of alcohol-induced irresponsibility—that's a check too.
1. Prologue

**What Happens in Vegas**

Summary:

Elizabeth Bennet has her life all mapped out: her own loft in downtown Chicago, a steady boyfriend, and becoming the first female partner at Palmer-Proctor, LLP. But Lizzie's in for a shock: waking up with a hangover and a stunning sparkler on her ring finger after a crazy night in Las Vegas was definitely _not _in her five-year career plan. And even worse, her new husband is Will Darcy, Head of Litigation at Llewellyn-Gold and the biggest jerk Lizzie's ever met...

_(Chapters after prologue will average 3000 words.)_

* * *

**Prologue**_**  
**_

**_Las Vegas 2013_**

_She'd been run over by an eighteen-wheel truck carrying a few tons of cement._

Or, at least, the pounding in Lizzie's head felt very much _like _that.

At least she wasn't stupid enough to open her eyes immediately upon waking. While her migraine wasn't exactly conducive for her thought processes, it did bring to mind mornings after the frat parties (that she wasn't strictly invited to) and the pain always accompanying the first blinding rays of sunlight. She shifted slightly, intending to roll onto her back – sleeping on her side always gave her a crick in the neck for the rest of the day – and froze.

There was an arm was around her waist.

For that matter, her shoulder was pressed against a warm, solid mass of some sort; slim ankles entangled with what might be a set of lean, muscular calves; and were those _lips _against her hair?

Lizzie inhaled sharply as an unwanted, unexpected thrill slithered down her back. Then exhaled with relief as she felt fabric over her chest. Still in a camisole and panties – in other words, not naked, and not past third base. Her heartbeat slowed marginally, thudding at almost the same rate as her headache. She wasn't hyperventilating. Lizzie didn't _do _hyperventilating. Ever.

Gingerly, she slitted her eyes, allowing some sunlight to slowly filter in, before curiosity finally won over dread. Her chin tipped upwards, clipping her companion's collarbone, and she saw his face – and promptly screamed. Loudly. A shriek, really; the windows may or may not have creaked.

A flutter of absurdly long lashes. Then the pair of bleary grey eyes revealed removed all (wonderful, necessary, _life-sustaining_) doubt.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was sleeping in her bed – and, as her memory inconveniently came crashing upon her like a heap of bricks with lucidity, the man she'd married last night.

The man who she'd sworn she wouldn't marry if he were the last breathing male on the planet.

_Well, _fuck.


	2. 1: How It All Began

**What Happens in Vegas  
**

* * *

**1. How It All Began  
**_a series of vignettes...  
_

_**Chicago 2011 **_

"It was great seeing you here, Lizzie," said Charles Bingley, closing his gleaming silver laptop. A grin warmed his affable face, freckles made more prominent by the fluorescent lights employed by the skyscraper. "And – if it makes you less nervous – as your interviewer, I can honestly say you aced this one."

"Thanks," Lizzie replied gratefully. Being fresh out of U. Chicago Law, this was only her third job interview _ever_, not counting babysitting the Twin Terrors and mixing coffees at Starbucks. The last week had been nerve-wracking. "Have you spoken to Jane recently?"

"No, she's still in Galapagos. No internet."

Lizzie winced sympathetically. Jane and Charlie were joined at the hip – had been since their senior year of high school nine years ago. Three weeks without communication was a lifetime for them.

"Anyway," Charlie cleared his throat and leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper, "between you and me, I expect to see you at a cubicle in Llewellyn-Gold every morning by two weeks from now. Gotta run it by Will first, but – "

A sharp rap sounded on the door before it clicked open, and a tall, impeccably dressed man strode through.

"Charles, a word." The newcomer didn't spare Lizzie a glance. "In private."

"Sure," Charlie said, looking vaguely confused. "Lizzie, I'll be right back."

"Take your time."

Approximately twenty minutes later, measured through a few games of Tetris on her phone, Lizzie couldn't suppress her craving for coffee any longer. Or maybe she was just restless and a little concerned in spite of herself.

She wanted this job, badly. It wasn't as if she didn't have offers: one from a Boston-based firm, a few in New York, and one in Los Angeles. Mostly good jobs she appreciated having the opportunity to receive. But Jane and Charlotte were in Chicago, so the Windy City was where Lizzie would stay.

Having made her way to the coffee dispenser down the hall, she surveyed the available flavors. Hazelnut. Her favorite. As she slowly stirred a cup, she let herself enjoy the delicious scent wafting up into her nose.

"…she's using you," drifted a rich baritone.

"Lizzie would never do that." Lizzie froze at the sound of her name and Charlie's distinctive Bostonian accent. Surely they weren't talking about _her_?

"The team won't like it. She'll screw with the current employees' moods, and we can't afford that with the Jackson trial coming up – "

"She's my friend."

"She's also your girlfriend's sister," snapped Tall, Dark, and (Probable) Asshole, "and we all know how that looks. Besides, we've hired seven associates within the last month that are eminently more qualified than Elizabeth Bennet. I know her type. Pretty girl, thinks she can make it in big law, sees the workload, and then can't take the heat."

Lizzie's hands curled into white-knuckled fists. She was first in her class in both Constitutional Law and Civil Procedure, and fought conceited, prejudiced men like him every step of the way. _Can't take the heat__? _She'd show him _heat _–

"Will – "

"No. And that's final."

Creaking hinges signaled the door opening before a slamming noise reverberated through the hall.

"Damn it, I need a coffee," that voice muttered, steps nearing where Lizzie stood with each passing second. Paralyzed by boiling frustration (and not a small amount of anger), she didn't move to avoid him as he entered.

He would have been handsome if he wasn't such a Grade-A prick. A high nose, firm mouth, and square jaw made his features decidedly patrician, while the perfectly cut navy suit emphasized broad shoulders and trim hips. What caught her attention, however, were his glittering eyes the color of steel – eyes that were all too content to stare down his nose at her. Lizzie glared back.

The momentary stare-down passed when the man stiffly extended a hand to her.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, Head of Litigation."

"Elizabeth Bennet, Predetermined Flake-out," she introduced herself sarcastically, picking up her steaming drink. A faint flush stained his pale complexion as he realized she'd heard his every word.

"Purely business," Darcy said coldly, letting his arm fall to his side. "You understand that the wellbeing of the firm is my top priority."

Lizzie walked out.

* * *

_**New York City 2011  
**_

The next time Lizzie had the displeasure of seeing Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was more than half a year later in the Big Apple.

Her plane from San Francisco landed in LaGuardia at close to midnight the previous day. As a well-liked, respected junior associate without a family to tie her down, Lizzie was a frequent top pick for business trips; she'd been away from Chicago for one week and four days as of now, the meeting with Glocorp's chief counsel being her third and last conference. She was bone-tired, it was snowing so hard that she could barely keep her eyes open against the onslaught of white fluff, and to top it all off, she'd forgotten her favorite scarf at the airport.

…Yes, she was having a bad day.

Another cab drove by without stopping. Lizzie took a deep calming breath. _One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi_…

A minute or two later, a fleck of yellow appeared in the distance. Squinting, she honed in her vision on the "vacant" sign; she nearly pumped her fist in the air. Closer, closer, closer – it was even slowing down –

And then the taxi screeched to a halt at the completely wrong spot.

Namely, about ten yards down, where a very familiar man began to slide into the backseat. The haughty expression (like he couldn't stomach the smell of everything around him) – she'd know it anywhere.

Lizzie growled. Calling her a brown-nosing office slut was one thing. But stealing her taxi…

It was official.

Fitzwilliam Darcy ranked No. 1 on her Most-Hated list.

* * *

_**Boston 2012**_

"My Jane and a _lawyer_ – well done indeed!" Mrs. Bennet slid a plate of delicious-smelling _hors d'oeuvres_ out of the oven. Lizzie had to admit that, if anything, her mother was a fantastic cook.

"Dear, aren't you going to congratulate Jane on her betrothal?" Lizzie's father asked drily, looking up briefly from his newspaper.

"I just did!"

Lizzie and Jane exchanged a knowing glance.

"Now, Lydia and Kitty should be back from the mall at any moment, and Mary – Mary! Come downstairs now! – is already home," continued Mrs. Bennet, unhampered by the silence of those around her. "Or those two better be. I want all the girls home. Charlie's bringing a family friend, and I have it on good authority that he's quite well-connected."

"_Mom!_"

"What, Jane? It's true – and just because _you _found yourself such a nice fiancé on your own doesn't mean Lizzie can." The older woman turned a disapproving gaze on her second eldest daughter's jeans and gray sweatshirt. Once, Lizzie would have felt a wave of self-consciousness, but she knew better now.

"It's only Charlie."

"And his _single_ friend!"

Lizzie fought down an eye roll. Her mother and she had never been close. During high school, rather than partying and serial dating with the rest of her sisters, Lizzie had been absorbed in studying, playing volleyball, and captaining her school's policy debate team. Ever since she chose to pursue law (and not something that a _respectable _woman would do, like chairing the community charity board), their relationship had become increasingly strained.

"I'll go change." Lizzie climbed upstairs to her room to pull on a dark red blouse and added a pair of dangling gold earrings. Perhaps a touch of mascara –

The doorbell rang loudly, setting off cascade of notes that Mrs. Bennet insisted was "perfectly divine" at precisely the same time as her Blackberry buzzed. Glancing downwards, the name "Marie" flashed on the screen. Lizzie peered at her watch; since it was only 5:45, her mother would be making aimless small talk for the next thirty minutes. Small talk that they could do without her for, at any rate.

Precisely forty-three minutes later, Lizzie was flying downstairs. She'd likely missed the beginning of dinner – her mother was likely _very _upset –

"Oh!"

It took a moment for Lizzie to realize the little gasp had escaped from _her _mouth as she collided with a very solid mass. If she didn't know better, she would hazard that the man standing in front of her appeared a little bit amused. However, any brownie points he received for twinkling eyes were promptly deducted for the faint scowl he wore. As always.

"Good evening," he said with a curt nod.

"Will! Have you met Lizzie? You two have so much in common – both working in law, I understand," chirped Mrs. Bennet as she nearly flittered over in her excitement, sharp blue eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile rare for its whole-heartedness.

Embarrassment fading, Lizzie lifted her chin.

"We've met," she said a little coolly, then, determined not to ruin the night for Jane by being unpleasant, added, "but only briefly."

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet.

"I didn't know Mr. Darcy was Charlie's friend."

"Will."

"Sorry?"

"It's Will," Darcy – _Will_ – repeated.

Lizzie caught sight of a pleased gleam in her mother's eye before she hurried off to leave them alone.

The casual nickname sounded odd for rigidity personified. Unfortunately, it looked like they would be seeing quite a bit of each other, considering his closeness to her incipient brother-in-law.

"Lizzie," she said, plastering on a smile. "I'm" (_not_) "sorry I'm late. My boss wanted a copy of something."

"I would have thought you'd make a distinction between work and personal life."

_That _was a shitty comment to make.

"Must be easy for you," she retorted, civility forgotten, pointedly taking in his obvious straight-from-the-office suit and the briefcase lying on the couch despite it being a Saturday. _Considering you have no personal life _didn't need to be said. A tick in Will's jaw made itself apparent.

"What I meant was that you look like you care about family," he replied frostily.

Lizzie matched his burning stare with one of her own.

"Be more careful about the way you phrase your comments, then." _Or better yet, _don't _comment._

His lips quirked slightly as he broke the eye contact. "Why do I feel like you would find a way to be offended by anything I say?"

"Because I don't _like _you."

Impassivity returned.

"My remarks that day were purely professional – "

"Pity. And here I'd thought I was 'pretty,'" she quipped sardonically.

For a moment, Lizzie thought he would sputter – except instead, he appeared to be fighting a smile, a strange war between irritation and laughter being waged with his face as a battlefield.

"_Lizzie!_"

Kitty's distinctive screech sliced through the air and induced a wince. Will raised a dark brow, having finally brought whatever he was trying not to show under control.

"I think they need you to serve."

"You can help," Lizzie muttered darkly, starting off toward the kitchen. He didn't follow. And she was _not _disappointed. Although – damn it, she might not like him, but she liked arguing with him. A good anger outlet. That was all.

Charlie and Jane were making doe eyes at one another at the dining table; averting her sight (Lizzie loved her sister, but there was a gooeyness quota specifying the limits of her endurance, and that definitely surpassed it), she gripped the first plate she found in a desperate effort to appear busy.

"Where were you?" Mary, a thin, pale college student of twenty-two adjusted the white reindeer-patterned apron around her waist. A theology major, she was easily the most religious – and the most fastidious – of the family. "It's rude not to greet the guests, you know."

"Marie asked for a copy of the subpoena I filed for in the Brooks case."

"You shouldn't juggle the trays that way. It's not seemly."

Sighing in exasperation, Lizzie set one of the three plates she'd been attempting to carry back on the countertop. "Better?"

"Much."

She managed to take all of five steps before nearly tripping over the bright purple laces on Lydia's untied Converse. A single gold piercing (that Mr. Bennet had nearly had an aneurysm over) on her second-youngest sibling's thin right eyebrow glinted under the colored lights as the girl giggled.

"Isn't he _handsome_?"

"Who?"

"Will Darcy," confided Lydia, leaning in, kohl-lined blue eyes flashing with all the eagerness of a new crush. "Do you think he will ever love me?"

"I hope not. A relationship between a sixteen-year-old girl and a man his age is illegal," Lizzie replied flatly. Lydia pouted.

"Always have to be the frigging downer, don't you?"

Lizzie resisted the urge to massage her temples. There was a _reason _why she'd wanted to avoid working in Boston – good God, this was going to be a _long _night.

By eight-thirty, Lizzie had consumed two glasses of red wine and was clinging to the last vestiges of her sanity. Her mother alternatively simpered and chattered aimlessly, her father pretended as if his wife didn't exist, Kitty was sulking because she'd been loudly reminded by Mrs. Bennet that she was "on diet and needed to watch her food," Lydia acted like a miniature Mrs. Bennet with much more swearing, Mary lectured self-righteously, Charlie and Jane remained adorable, and Will Darcy was both stiff and a prick (no, Lizzie did _not _mean it that way).

…In other words, exactly as expected.

"Could I have everyone's attention?"

Lizzie smiled at her radiant sister. Blond and beautiful, Jane was universally acknowledged as the prettiest of the Bennet sisters, but she'd been fairly glowing with happiness ever since Charlie proposed last week.

"Charlie and I have been talking about the wedding," Jane continued, clasping her beaming fiancé's hand, "and we've decided that we want it held in Vegas."

It took visible effort for Lizzie not to gape.

Kindergarten teacher and first aid volunteer Jane in _Las Vegas_? She wasn't even sure if Jane had ever visited a casino before, let alone Vegas. Lizzie herself, on the other hand – well, going with a group of suddenly relieved (post-finals) twenty-ones just legal during her college days had probably been a bad idea.

"_Vegas!_" cried Mrs. Bennet, breaking the shocked silence. "Jane, darling, are you quite sure?"

"Some pre-wedding fun never hurt anyone."

"But _Vegas_ – "

"And," continued Jane, speaking over their mother's strident tones, "Will, Lizzie, we'd be thrilled if you'd be best man and maid of honor."

"Of course. You didn't need to ask," Lizzie agreed immediately. She embraced Jane, hugging her tightly, suddenly and inexplicably teary. Jane, getting _married_. It was as if she'd heard the word before without really hearing it, only now realizing its meaning.

"Will?" Charlie prompted expectantly.

"Would you like a hug, too?" deadpanned Darcy.

"Will you be my best man or not?"

"I don't think I can refuse." Lizzie frowned at his emotionless response; would it be too hard for the impossible man to dredge up _some _enthusiasm? Expecting a disappointed Charlie, she was astonished when her friend chuckled.

"Thanks, man. You'll be the one driving us home after the drinks."

Will smiled. It instantly transformed his chiseled features; where he'd been solemn and austere only a moment ago, he now appeared…approachable. Almost normal. (And, objectively speaking, mind-blowingly gorgeous.)

Or at least he did until Lizzie saw her mother winking.

* * *

A/N: Wow! I was amazed by the response to this story - I didn't think I'd get so many reviews in such a short time. Thank you all for reading, following, favoriting, and especially reviewing! As a writer, I really appreciate the feedback - it motivates me to write more (and update).

I'm writing this as I go, but it's coming along pretty fast. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter + **R&R**!

-Saelia


	3. 2: Last-Minute Arrangements

**What Happens in Vegas**

* * *

**********2. Last-Minute Arrangements**  
_an exploration of how incredibly hard it is to refuse one's sick sister...**  
**_

_**Chicago 2013**_

"Green."

"Silver."

"I hate silver."

"Green is putrid," Will shot back.

Lizzie threw her hands into the air in utter frustration. After a few weeks of living in blissful ignorance, a miserable fact came to her attention in early February: as maid of honor and best man, she and Will Darcy would actually have to work together to do some last-minute planning for this wedding – namely, the details that Jane didn't want to deal with.

Such as the color of the tablecloth.

"Silver's so flashy."

Will exhaled the breath he was holding in a whoosh of exasperated air.

"Cream."

"Silver is – what?"

"Cream," Will said irritably, shooting her a _why-you-don't-understand-the-simplest-things-is-beyond-me_ look, "the color between white and tan."

Lizzie's ears warmed.

"That's – that's fine, I guess," she replied after a moment of careful thought, examining the color palette. "The darker ivory?"

"Exactly I'm thinking."

"Great minds think alike." Her response was automatic, being too surprised by the fact they _agreed_ to think about what she was saying. His skeptical glance made her redden. "Well, only one of us is great."

"You, obviously."

She snorted. Although…snorting didn't exactly say mature and sophisticated. Luckily, her phone went off to right that moment to cover the sound.

"Hello?"

"Lizzie? This is Charlie," buzzed Charlie's voice, unusually tense at the other end. "Jane's sick."

"With what?"

"We think it's flu."

Lizzie winced – flu season was particularly awful this year. There shouldn't be anything wrong. Really. But…Jane had always been prone to illness, even when they were children.

"Are you at her flat?"

"No, mine."

"I'll be right over. Thanks for letting me know." The line clicked shut.

Jamming her pen and notebook into her quilted tote, Lizzie pushed her chair back with a loud scraping noise like nails on plywood. The dingy coffee store was cramped and mazelike in its construction, forcing her to weave through a motley collection of worn furniture. It was usually a favorite haunt, charming for its 19th century style inconvenience. Today, it was merely irritating as she hurried out.

A hand caught her arm. Her skin tingled at the contact even through her thick wool jacket.

"Is something wrong?"

She frowned. It was rather rude of her to leave without a word – she supposed she ought to give an explanation, no matter how much she disliked him. Curtly, she informed him, "Jane's not well. I just want to make sure she'll be alright. Sorry, Will – "

"Do you have a ride there?" he interrupted impatiently.

"No, but I can take the metro – crud!"

Lizzie nearly groaned aloud. She'd forgotten. Transport to Charlie's was always a pain, due to a combination of distance and inconvenient placement of subway tunnels.

The jingle of keys jarred her out of her mental calculation of the quickest route.

"I'll drive you."

Stunned, she required a moment to process what Darcy was saying. A genuine offer of help from the egomaniac himself. This was unexpected. But for Jane (and avoiding an hour's worth of travel on a redundant subway network), Lizzie supposed she could tolerate an extra twenty minutes of his company.

"44 West – "

Darcy's lips turned upwards in amusement.

"I know where Charles lives."

_Of course he did, with them being best friends and all._ Being frazzled was no excuse for stupidity. Silently chastising herself, she followed him out of the café. A rare sunny day, especially for the cold season, sunlight glinted off the gleaming black surface of a four-seat convertible. Lizzie raised her eyebrows as she climbed into the passenger seat.

"Cute car," she remarked wryly, inhaling the distinctive smell of expensive leather. _Subtle, too. _Unable to resist, she examined the interior and matched it to the outside shape. "E series Cabriolet?"

Dark brows raised, Darcy started the ignition. "A 550. You're a car enthusiast?"

"Slightly," Lizzie admitted.

"But you don't own one."

"I don't need one," she said defensively, sensing the haughty disdain in his voice. "Public transport suits me perfectly well, except when I need to see Charlie."

"Do you see Charles often?"

"Enough." Unable to curb her irritation, she snapped, "Why do you call him Charles? Is 'Charlie' not up to your lofty standards?"

Darcy's grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"He was Charles in college."

The conversation lapsed into stony silence.

The landscape blurred by, melting into a mess of black glass and blue sky. Unwillingly, Lizzie's thoughts raced to the past. Charlie had left for Georgetown, "to become a CIA agent," they'd all joked, while Jane departed for Northwestern. The two planned to carry on a long distance relationship – and it failed drastically. Within a year, Charlie, with the encouragement of a still unnamed classmate and friend, broke it off.

The incident was short-lived – Charlie and Jane reconciled within three months – but the new knowledge that Darcy met Charlie at Georgetown sent alarm bells ringing through Lizzie's head. _Too coincidental_.

But what if he _was_ the influence that had made Jane cry for weeks? It would explain why the Bennets had never met him, Charlie's supposed best friend, until now; it would also shed light on his lack of enthusiasm at Charlie's announcement of his engagement to Jane. Beyond that, Lizzie could see Darcy in that role – knowing his proclivity for arrogance and thinking the worst of others…

The car pulled into the parking lot of a tall building, bordered by marble stairs and metallic decoration. Without a word, she trailed Darcy to the glass doors, nearly jogging to keep up with his long, brisk strides. Fourteen floors later, they were at their destination.

"Hey, Lizzie – Will?"

"He gave me a ride," Lizzie explained, trying to hide her worry. Charlie looked unusually tired and haggard; there were purplish circles underneath his eyes and his auburn hair seemed coarse and slightly greasy.

"Well, it's good to have you guys here," Charlie said, relief in his tone as he invited them in. A quintessential bachelor pad, his loft was large and uncluttered, furnished with a leather sofa, an enormous flat screen television, a kitchen that looked completely unused, and several boxes of takeout.

A flutter of movement in the far corner caught Lizzie's eye. The culprit, a statuesque blonde in a tight red dress about Lizzie's age, rose to greet them.

"Lizzie – _Will_! It's fantastic to see you!"

"Caro," Lizzie said politely. There was certainly no love lost between them, for Caroline Bingley and Lizzie had never quite gotten along (ever since that dispute about Patty the doll all those years ago), but they were old enough now to be civil.

"How are you?" Will inquired, brisk and impersonal as always, in complete contrast to Caro's enthusiasm at seeing him. Caro's smile wavered slightly.

"Good! Better, now that you are here; it's been so boring in Chicago. Louisa's busy, and there hasn't been anyone to come sightseeing with me. Maybe you could take me?"

"A big case came up recently, and I'm handling it personally. Next time, maybe," he deferred. His regretful smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which were oddly flat and cold. Lizzie firmly stamped down the curiosity that immediately bubbled to the forefront of her mind – she was _not_ interested in Will Darcy. And he was _not _distracting her from the reason she came here.

"How's Jane?" she asked Charlie, pulling him to the side.

"It's – not very well. A hundred and four degrees. I've been doing my best – she's already seen the doctor, and he said it's just flu – "

Lizzie laid a hand on his arm. "I'll watch her," she said quietly. "Go get some sleep, Charlie."

The look he gave her as he pointed her toward the guest room was so grateful that she felt a little ashamed for not sensing that something was wrong and coming earlier. She tiptoed down the hallway, and then gently pushed open the door.

Jane lay in bed; a curtain of flaxen hair Lizzie had so envied in their elementary school days spread around her head like a halo. She appeared pale, too pale. Gingerly, Lizzie touched her sister's forehead. It was burning hot.

"Lizzie?"

"Of course. I _told _you to get the flu shot – "

A weak, rasping laugh. "I'll remember next time, I promise."

"Sorry for being such a nag," Lizzie said, smiling ruefully. "I'll be right back with some water and honey for your throat."

"Wait, Lizzie. I wanted to talk to you about the wedding."

"What about it?"

"Could you and Will go without us? I don't think Charlie and I can come with you," Jane sneezed, then succumbed to a series of hacking coughs. "What a lousy time to be sick."

_No fucking way_.

The four of them were originally going to fly to Las Vegas four days early to get everything in order before the rest of the guests arrived. But if Jane was sick, and Charlie was staying behind to take care of Jane…

That meant Lizzie would be stuck with Will Darcy.

But she'd already taken a week off work; the plane tickets were booked and paid for; and more importantly, considering how much Jane had always been willing to do for her, she felt more than a little obligated to ensure the wedding that Jane had been looking forward to for a year was truly the once-in-a-lifetime event it should be. Lizzie capitulated.

"I'll be there."

* * *

At around ten, Lizzie left her sister to sleep. She arrived in the sitting room to find a heated game of Monopoly between Louisa and her husband, Kevin Hurst, (who'd stopped by on their way home to see if their incipient sister-in-law was alright) and Caro and Charlie. To Lizzie's shock, Darcy hadn't left; instead, he was rapidly typing on his laptop, heavy manila folders stacked next to him on the kitchen table.

"Boardwalk!" crowed Caro. "That'll be five hundred!"

"Damn it, I'll be bankrupt in no time at this rate," grumbled Kevin, handing over the requisite amount. Glancing upwards, he caught sight of Lizzie walking past. "Come play for me, Liz?"

Lizzie grinned at him. Kevin was an old friend from high school; from what she remembered, he'd been both the star linebacker and an unrepentant ladies' man. "Considering you're about to run a deficit as big as the U.S.'s, I'd say no thanks."

"Spoilsport."

"Practical," she countered. "I don't engage in games already lost."

"Hey! I can still turn this thing around – "

"Maybe if you palmed a few properties, honey," Louisa advised with mock solemnity, sipping from her glass of red wine. Charlie snorted.

"I'd pay your debts indefinitely if you get Will off work," he offered.

Eyeing the thick packets of paper surrounding said occupant, Lizzie was reminded that, if nothing else, Darcy was a phenomenal lawyer. Coming out of law school, she hadn't been as well acquainted with the field as she should have been; it was only after joining Palmer-Proctor that she'd learned all about the estimable Fitzwilliam Darcy from a smitten fellow junior associate. Apparently, he'd graduated from law school at the age of twenty-four, spent the next four years speed-climbing up the firm hierarchy, and made partner at the youngest age in Llewellyn-Gold history.

"Work," Darcy snapped irritably, "is what keeps us winning cases, Charles."

_It was a pity_, Lizzie reflected sardonically as she slipped into her coat, _that Chicago's own rising star was such a _berk_._

"Lizzie, are you leaving?"

"I'll be back tomorrow," she assured Charlie. "Goodnight, and call me if anything changes."

The click made by Will's shutting of his laptop alerted her to his efficient packing; in under twenty seconds, he'd placed everything in order inside his briefcase more neatly than she could have in thirty minutes. She stared.

"Coming?"

"Really, there's no need to take me home," she protested. Partially because she didn't want to inconvenience anyone, but mostly, Lizzie knew with a tiny stab of guilt, because she didn't want to stay in his company.

"You're going to walk halfway across Chicago alone in the dark." His voice was one of flat disbelief. Her ears grew hot. Put that way, she came across as a reckless idiot.

"Someone's meeting me," she lied.

The answering patronizing smile quashed the guilt. It made her want to pick up the rippled glass vase nearby and hurl it at his overblown head instead.

"I'll walk you down to wherever that happens, then. Unless…this person might be late?"

Lizzie gritted her teeth and stalked out.

Remaining a few steps ahead, she stepped into the elevator – thank _God _it was at their floor – and nearly punched the "close doors button." Lizzie imagined Darcy's fish-face as he realized that she was already and felt a vicious surge of satisfaction. (No, she wasn't being petty at all.)

...But the elevator doors pinged open at the thirteenth floor. To her utter dismay, Fitzwilliam Darcy strode in, fairly radiating smugness.

"Stairs," he explained without being prompted, the same way one might triumphantly proclaim a royal flush in a poker game.

"Well, good for you, getting some exercise," Lizzie shot back in her sweetest voice, "considering all the time you spend working at a desk…"

His brows arched, jaw slipping slightly. "Are you calling me _fat_?"

Lizzie meant to do a pointed, sarcastic once-over, starting with his immaculately groomed hair, so dark it was black from a distance, right down to his polished black loafers. But she somehow got lost in the sculpted planes of his face; those startling grey eyes bordered by lashes thick enough to appear effeminate had he been anyone else; and the lean stature that said fit, but not body-builder, underneath the snotty Ralph Lauren getup.

Damn, but Will Darcy was hot…

"I know I'm attractive, sweetheart, but there's no need to keep checking me out."

…Until he opened his mouth. Lizzie scowled.

"There's mud on your shoes."

Any retort he might have made was cut off by the ding that signaled reaching the ground floor. Still smirking in that stupidly satisfied way, Will walked out of the elevator. Lizzie hated that he was so tall. Every brisk stride had to be matched by two of hers, and that took effort. Not that she would ever let him see that.

He held the car door open for her. She slammed it in his face.

"Easy on the car, please."

"Ugh," she groused. "I can't _believe _I'll be spending four days of one-on-one with you in Vegas."

He stilled. "_What?_"

"Jane obviously can't make it down on Monday, and Charlie's staying to make sure she keeps recovering. That leaves me and you to ensure they have the wedding of their dreams." It was certainly true that misery loved company. Lizzie's mood brightened along with Will's knuckles, indicating that he was clenching the wheel so hard it might break. And pushing the gas pedal down further than he should.

"My God, _slow down!_"

The Mercedes relented from the sixty it was doing on the narrow city streets to a more comfortable forty. Furious, Lizzie turned on Will. "Are you _trying _to get us killed?"

"No," he said tightly. "Where do you live?"

"Madison St. You're not getting off the hook that easily, Darcy – what the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"You startled me."

"Oh, so it's my fault, is it?"

His sharp profile was flushed with anger, visible even in the dim light of the streetlights. She could tell that he was fighting to maintain calm.

"Just let me drive," he snapped.

Suddenly and inexplicably tired, she quieted.

They reached her apartment twenty minutes later. By that time, Lizzie's anger had quelled – to be fair, it _had _been considerate of him to take her to Charlie's, and then home. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." The awkwardness between them was almost tangible. "Until Monday, then?"

"Yeah, Monday," she murmured.

She didn't look back as the engine roared to life…at least, not until she was sure Will couldn't see her turning to watch him go.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for all the favs, follows, and (especially) reviews! Hopefully, everyone continues to enjoy the story :3 I also fixed a few things that pointed out in the last chapter - criticisms/questions are appreciated too.

In response to the (very good) question as to why Darcy and the Bennets have never met, I hope this chapter partially explained it in Lizzie's conjecture. Charlie grew up in the same small town as the Bennets, and Darcy was his college roommate after he left for uni. Darcy may or may not have encouraged Charlie to break up with Jane, hence Charlie being reluctant to introduce Darcy to the Bennets until it was more or less unavoidable. To answer another question, _What Happens in Vegas_ is going to incorporate lots of elements of P&P (you might have seen a few already!) but diverge in areas too. I'm trying to stay somewhat true to form on the characters, but they're all a little different in the modern-day setting.

Next chapter will kick off in Las Vegas. **R&R!** (Because they really do make me write faster, hehe)

-Saelia


	4. 3: Confessional

**What Happens in Vegas**

* * *

**************3. Confessional**  
_a few (couple) (many) fights, plus how Lizzie manages to rope Mr. Darcy into playing_

_**Las Vegas 2013**_

**Monday, 8:32AM**

"It's your fault if we miss the flight."

Still panting with exertion from her sprint from the airport entrance, Lizzie muttered a clipped, "Sorry."

He glanced down at his shiny silver watch. (Complemented by an immaculate grey sweater without a single wrinkle and perfectly pressed pants – did the man liveat a dry cleaner's?)

"Normally, people try to make travel _less _stressful," he remarked scathingly. "But since you insisted on meeting at the last minute possible, and then showed up twenty after that, we have about fifteen minutes to check in and get through security before the gate starts boarding. Congratulations."

"Charles asked me to drop off a few things for Jane."

"Caro is perfectly capable of – "

"Look, Will, I'm sorry I'm late," Lizzie snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence, "but will you just _shut up_?"

All in all, not a very auspicious start to their trip.

* * *

**Monday, 3:05PM**

"I've got the bill."

"I covered it."

"Hand it over."

"It's already been paid – "

"_Give me that!_"

* * *

**Monday, 3:30PM**

"It's wonderful to finally meet you," Lizzie said warmly, shaking the ring-encrusted hand of Kate Livingston. The wedding planner was a stocky, middle-aged woman with a crisp pixie cut and dressed in…were those _turnips _on her patterned jacket?

"Likewise. I feel like I know all of you already – and goodness, you'll look even prettier in that bridesmaid's dress than I'd envisioned from your photo. And you, you must be Mr. Darcy!"

"Just Will, actually. May I call you Kate?"

Was that Darcy being, well, _not Darcy_? To Lizzie's acute horror, the older woman actually blushed.

"That's perfect, dear. What an adorable couple the two of you make!"

Lizzie's jaw hit the floor with a cracking noise. Sputtering, she rallied.

"He's not – "

"She's not – "

The planner prattled on as if she didn't hear them.

"I'm so sorry to hear about Jane! What a miserable time to be ill. But don't worry. The wedding's going to be absolutely fabulous! The Ravella's been booked for Friday, of course, and the florist's sending us peonies just like Jane wanted. Ivory and yellow ones, to go with the color scheme I hear you guys were responsible for. Amazing choice, by the way! Yellow peonies are gorgeous. My favorite flower, you know."

How the woman hadn't run out of breath through that diatribe, Lizzie wasn't quite sure. Without thinking, she caught Will's eye, silent incredulity communicated between them in a rare moment of camadarie.

"-And the tablecloths, and wedding invitations – "

Lizzie fought back a groan.

* * *

**Monday, 8:12PM**

"Where do you want to go?"

Click, clack, click.

"What do you want for dinner?"

Click, clack, click.

"_Where do you want to go for dinner_?"

Click, clack, _CLICK._

"Where," Lizzie growled through gritted teeth, one hand on top of the laptop she'd slammed closed, the other clenching the cord of the earphone she'd ripped out, "do you want to go for dinner?"

If looks could kill, Will would be in jail for murder. "Wherever you want, as long as it's not around me," he ground out.

"Glad to. At least I won't be around conceited jerks who can't take two seconds off work –"

Grey eyes flashed. The distance between them – not so great to start with, considering the size of public picnic furniture – closed.

"I have fifteen different depositions to get through for the next case my team is handling. Just because you don't have anything important to do –"

"You're saying I don't work hard?" she demanded, half incredulous, half irate as she jabbed a finger in his chest. "I billed nearly three thousand hours last year!"

She nearly gasped in surprise as he grabbed her hand and forced it away, pinning it to the table. His grip was firm but not too tight, skin heated but not sweaty. Oddly comfortable. As a little shiver traced its way up and down her spine, Lizzie realized that the mood had suddenly shifted.

They had inched together, probably to get in each other's faces, with every furious exchange. He was so close now that she could feel his breath on her nose, warm and slightly minty, smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the clean crispness of detergent; in fact, to any observer, they would probably appear to be pressed together. She was infuriated. So was he.

Neither of them moved.

And for a brief, crazy moment, Lizzie had the strange and (even more incredibly) not-entirely-unwelcome idea that Will was going to –

Her Blackberry went off.

Like two toddlers caught with their hands in the cookie jar, they jolted apart, bombarded by the return of normality. Pulse racing, Lizzie berated herself: what was she _thinking_? She couldn't stand Will Darcy, let alone – let alone do – do whatever it was might have happened.

"You should take that." His voice was carefully blank.

Unreasonably irritated by his nonchalance, and too – not quite embarrassed, but something of that sort – to meet his eyes, she picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey Lizzie! It's Charlotte," chirped said woman through the static. "How's Las Vegas with that sexy hunk of yours?"

How the _hell _was she supposed to answer that when said 'hunk' was sitting directly across from her?

"Oh, good," Lizzie said as if she were discussing the weather, forcing a smile for Will's benefit. The shrill shriek of excitement ensuing from the other end of the line made her ears ring. Lizzie winced.

"Ehmigod! He's _so _hot. The two of you are totally cute together!"

"Yes, of course. Look, Charlotte, can I call you back later?" Not waiting for an answer, she hung up. Crud. This probably meant she needed to buy chocolate to make it up to Charlotte later. But that was definitely preferable to having Will overhear anything her friend might say next.

_What if he did hear?_

"Is everything fine?"

Lizzie realized she had forgotten to breathe. Reddening further at his concern (not the can-I-help kind, but the annoying do-you-need-a-trip-to-the-therapist kind), she scrambled for something to say. "I just received a restaurant recommendation."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving. Not that she blamed him. On the list of unconvincing lies, hers would likely top. "Really. Which one?"

"That one!"

"Mr. _Frog's_?"

* * *

**Monday, 8:42PM**

Lizzie capitulated to the awkward silence first.

Since arriving at the quaint little lakeside grill (they didn't _actually _go to Mr. Frog's, because as interesting as that might have been, the overabundance of totally drunk partiers that did _not _look legal was a bit off-putting), they'd been a sort of post-fight limbo. Or channeling an invisible war.

"Stop glaring at me," she snapped, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken as if it had personally done her irreparable harm. Or as if it was Will's face.

"I'm not."

"Aren't you? I find it uncomfortable, so stop whatever you're doing, then – "

"Are we going to argue constantly?" he bit back, exasperation written into every hard line of his face. Lizzie froze. And realized that, if they did, she'd probably scream. She wasn't sure how much of the sniping she could take.

"You're right."

Silence.

Totally out of patience, she flung the napkin in her hand on the table and glowered at Will like it were his fault the flimsy paper failed to make a suitably dramatic clang. "What, are you really going to make me say it again?"

"I – I am?"

The uncharacteristic stutter caught her attention. She peered over the drinks menu, propped upright in the middle of the table as if it were a buffer between two mortal combatants, at Will. _Really _peered at him, not giving him an accusing stare of some sort or rolling her eyes in his direction.

And found that Will Darcy was absolutely _floored _that she'd actually agreed with him.

Maybe it was the (well-deserved) alcohol. Maybe it was craziness of the afternoon. Maybe it was because her nerves were so frayed at this point that anything could send her over the edge. But Lizzie found herself _laughing _(and not in an unfriendly way) at Will Darcy.

God, had they really been so absurd – so determined to disagree – that this was the reaction whenever one of them acceded to the other?

"Don't let it go to your head," she warned, still smiling. "But yes, I think we need a – a –"

"A ceasefire?" The corners of his eyes crinkled a little as he suggested it.

"Something like that, but maybe a little less violent." Lizzie snapped her fingers. "A truce!"

"I like the sound of that."

"Mmm. Where are we staying tonight?"

"At the Bellagio." Long, slightly callused fingers roved over the surface of the phone in an absurdly quick flurry of movement. If nothing else, the man could search his inbox like a pro. "Charlie booked three adjoining rooms."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Middle one stays empty to ensure mutual survival?"

"Fantastic," he said drily, "neutral ground."

Barely suppressing a grin, Lizzie took another blissful sip of her wine, swirling it about with her tongue. Who knew that the estimable Fitzwilliam Darcy had a sense of humor after all?

"You're entirely too happy for someone drinking a 2009 Cottonwood Creek."

She shrugged and downed the rest of her glass. It wasn't really all that bad for a cheap dinner special (why she'd ordered it), fruity with a heavy taste of peaches. And it went easily enough with the food, which was a big plus.

"I'm not too picky." _Or a cork dork._ "Having just enough of an idea to appease the partners and not frighten off the clients works fine for me, although it's probably not quite enough for whichever country club you grew up frequenting."

"Actually, it was a yacht club."

About to roll her eyes, she spotted a faint smile curling about those lips. And stared. Because hell just froze over.

Darcy was _teasing _her.

An answering grin tugged at her month in spite of herself. "Let me guess, you also played polo and rowed in high school?"

"Believe it or not, I was on the football team."

Lizzie choked on her wine. "You? A helmet head?"

"Linebacker."

Catching the amused glint in his eyes, she punched his arm. "You're having me on!"

"Not at all."

"Prove it," Lizzie challenged impulsively. "Confessions. Right now."

"Confessions?"

"Come on, you can do better than that. As a self-proclaimed jock, you _have _to have played Confessions at after game parties."

"I can't say I have – "

"I knew you weren't really a football player."

Will mock sighed. "What do I have to do?"

Grinning, Lizzie leaned forward in her seat. "It's pretty simple. I ask a question, you have to confess the answer. If you do, I take a sip. If you don't, you get to do something of my choice _and _take a shot. We'll switch between questioner and questioned."

"In other words, alcoholic truth or dare."

"More or less," she allowed, feeling strangely relaxed. She could see the wheels turning in his head, probably going, _so juvenile_, or _gosh, my uppity conservative ego can't stand participating in this game_, or _eww, I haven't tasted anything other than Spottswoode Cabernet Sauvignon since I was born_.

To her astonishment, he nodded. It was a slightly reluctant (and characteristically stiff), but determined nonetheless. She almost laughed. Will was the only person she knew who'd enter a drinking game with the same expression as an Olympic swimmer gearing up for the race to end all races.

"Let's start this off easy for you, Darcy. Any pets?"

"No."

"Never?"

"A hermit crab, when I was nine, but that's all. Gigi's hyperallergic to everything."

Lizzie would _never _have pegged Will for the hermit crab type. "Who's Gigi?"

"You've already had two questions," he protested, gesturing at her glass. The liquid burned down her throat. "My turn – which of your sisters is your favorite?"

"Jane," Lizzie replied without hesitating. "Tell any of the others and you're dead. So, who's Gigi?"

"My sister."

She waited. "That's it?"

"She's twenty, likes blue, and loves her violin like nothing else." His exterior – usually so prickly and unreadable – softened as he spoke, inexplicably making Lizzie quite warm. There was a genuine undercurrent of affection tracing his words. Had it not been Will talking, she would have called it sweet. "Favorite color?"

"Green, yours?"

"Chocolate."

Lizzie frowned. She'd been so sure he'd say silver. "That's a food, not a color."

"It's a color."

"But brown's so boring."

"Chocolate's not quite brown. More gold than that. It's also quite – expressive, I suppose. Bright." He was watching Lizzie intently, almost piercingly. A tiny shudder, not totally unpleasant, fluttered through her. She had the oddest feeling that they weren't talking about colors anymore.

Her voice was shaky and a little too high even to her own ears. "I never knew you could wax poetic. English major?"

To Lizzie's relief, he flashed her an easy white smile, breaking the weird mood. "Always pushing the envelope – that's the second time you've tried to steal my question time. I might have to keep an eye on you from now on."

For some reason, the thought of Will Darcy watching her felt...hot. _Must be the drinks_, she thought, draining the last bit of her second glass, this time of champagne. "Ask away."

"What made you choose law?"

"I like it."

"That's all?"

"Well, I could make up some bullcrap about how I witnessed my parents' mugging before my eyes and wanted to persecute criminals for the rest of my life," Lizzie shrugged self-deprecatingly, "but to be honest, there's no deep reason. Self-satisfaction and nothing else."

"What exactly do you like about it?"

To her (lightheaded) horror, the answer tumbled out of her as if his question had broken a long-standing dam. "Knowing more than the opposing counsel when collecting evidence. Getting up there in front of the jury and cross-examining witnesses and seeing fake stories crumble. That thrill when youstumble upon that one little piece of information that fits the puzzle and makes the entire case, and you're just so damn _happy _because all that work finally amounted to something affecting other peoples' _lives._"

Something flitted over Will's face so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.

"That's not shallow," he said quietly.

"Isn't it?"

"No, that's doing what you love."

For the first time in a long, long while, Lizzie was at a loss for words.

"I – thank you," she muttered, throat abruptly dry and scratchy.

Will adjusted the cuff of his sweater. Taking pity on his discomfort, she changed the subject. "Is this your first time in Vegas?"

He relaxed and sipped. "No. Actually, I think I've visited all the casinos but Circus Circus."

"You haven't been to _Circus Circus_?"

Startled at the vigor of her tone, he shook his head. Lizzie grinned. "I think I know what we're doing tonight."

"Visiting a casino?"

"That," she agreed, ignoring his skepticism, "and more importantly, winning you a teddy bear."

He sent her a dark scowl. "You think I'm the snuggling type?"

"Just the opposite," Lizzie giggled, "but you could probably stand becoming slightly cuddlier." Palms flat on the table, she pushed herself up, then grabbed his arm, fingers playing over the hard, defined muscles through the thin cashmere material.

"You're drunk." His voice was flat.

Lizzie shook her head, trying not to sway on her feet. "No, just having some fun. Loosen up, Will. You don't need to have a stick up your ass _all _the time."

"I do not – " He broke off his vehement protest, a wry smile touching his handsome face. "We still have to pay the bill, you know. I don't think even you'll be able to argue your way out of being arrested for not doing so."

Impatiently, she drummed her knuckles against the back of his chair. "Are you coming or not?"

Will closed his eyes. "God help me, I guess I am."

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter was really, really hard to write, hence the slow update, and ended up being ten straight pages of dialogue. I realized (while doing suffering writer's block + being unhappy with what I _did _manage to churn out) that a **beta reader** would be enormously appreciated. So, er, private message me if interested?

(And I'm psyched that I'm helping other people procrastinate...because, honestly, fanfiction is how I procrastinate. Giving back to the community and all...)

Anyway, massive thanks for all the reviews, faves, and follows. R&R!

-Saelia


	5. 4: Rendezvous with a Tiger

**What Happens in Vegas**

* * *

**************4. Rendezvous with a Tiger**  
_and a whole lot of gambling  
_

**Monday, 9:00 PM**

"Voila! Circus Circus!" Lizzie made a sweeping flourish of her arms that encompassed the entire floor.

Bright pinpricks of light, drawing little cartwheels along the ceiling and walkway, illuminated the cavernous room. Loud music emanated from the sea of slot machines dotting the main floor. To the left of the golden doors, a heavyset brunette that appeared much too strict for the atmosphere was furiously dealing packets of cards to four determined poker players with black chips and high stakes.

"It's – interesting," Will murmured blankly. Lizzie laughed.

"This is the oldest part of the strip, from what I remember. Not very impressive as a casino, perhaps, but the carnival portion is pretty unique."

Giddy, she floated on air as she meandered through, Will keeping pace easily with long, athletic strides. His face was, as usual, pulled into that stern, disapproving expression, conspicuous among the many merrymakers. Expecting annoyance, she was surprised when it didn't come: instead, she had the strangest urge to wipe the stiffness away with a smile.

She stopped in front of an interesting apparatus of many, many bowls, most clear, a few red, a few green, a few blue, floating in a square of water. "Two sets, please."

"That's six throws," said the man tending the station in heavily accented English. "Ten dollars."

Absolutely outrageous for a price – Lizzie could buy five of the grand prize with that. Indignant, she placed her hands on her hips, fully intending to argue –

Except Will's large, capable hands had gotten there first, and there was already a ten dollar bill enclosed within them.

"You don't have to – "

"I'm not paying for _you_," he said, raising a dark brow. "Wasn't _I _the one with the miserable childhood bereft of Circus Circus?"

Lizzie crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine."

"And, besides, I'm more likely to make the shot."

Her mouth dropped. _He didn't_.

Will palmed the ping-pong ball, making a great show of testing its wait. His arm slid back, ready to throw. The millisecond the object left his hand, Lizzie's elbow innocuously bumped into his solar plexus.

The throw went a foot wide.

"My bad."

"You ruined my shot!" he accused.

She fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, did I? Sorry, I didn't see…"

"Win me that tiger and we'll call it even." His mouth curled into a delectably crooked grin that made something in Lizzie's stomach melt.

"You have a deal."

Cocking her wrist, she squinted, as if the target was a dartboard instead of a glass bowl, and then flicked. Hard. The ping-pong ball sailed into the air, arcing in a perfect example of projectile motion.

Except the upwards velocity didn't quite match the horizontal one.

Just like alcohol and motor skills were probably fundamentally incompatible.

The projectile ricocheted off the wall with an alarmingly loud noise, considering the weight of the ping-pong ball, and then hurtled backwards straight into the side of a passerby's head.

"Oops."

Her victim turned. Thick veins bulged in his burly neck, and his face became (even more) unflatteringly red as he neared. Normally, Lizzie would wonder about a squat body-builder type in his forties being alone in the children's section of Circus Circus. But she figured that she should refrain this time because she'd just inadvertently lobbed said body-builder with a ping-pong ball.

"Can't you aim right?" he snarled.

"I'm really sorry," she said contritely. "It was an accident."

"Stupid bitch," he spat. Faint pangs of anger welled up until they lost the 'faint' part. Sure, she'd been in the wrong, but he was overreacting. About to give him the cut-down he deserved, she –

Suddenly, Will was in front of her.

"Sorry, I must have misheard you," he said pleasantly. "Care to repeat that?"

For a moment, she was afraid that the other man would hit Will. Or that he would pop a vein from glaring too hard. Lizzie definitely didn't expect him to back down or deflate like a pufferfish. At least, not until she stepped around her – her sister's boyfriend's best friend, she supposed, was the best way to term their relationship – and caught sight of Will's expression.

Will, she realized, was positively livid.

It was veiled behind that carefully blank exterior. Will was _always _in control. It was one of the things that anchored his personality, in the two years she'd known him; even when they argued and sniped, she'd never seen him let go. Not really. (Not except maybe, just maybe, that one time earlier today when they were leaning into each other and something felt like it was on the cusp of happening and then her Blackberry ruined it all.)

But behind the politeness, something dangerous was simmering, and it was palpably hanging in the air, digging into each and every surface it could find. Lizzie abruptly felt very, very cold.

…And kind of grateful as Pufferfish slunk away. Not that she'd ever tell Will that.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling him myself, you know."

The look he gave her couldn't be described as anything other than exasperated. "Of course. What can you _not _do?"

She rolled her eyes, but she also giggled, just a little bit. (The more sober part of her mind was horrified.) "Aim, apparently. Guess that makes you my knight in shining armor."

"Your sarcasm just dented it," he commented dryly.

"Hey!" The vendor tapped impatiently on one of the posts. "You gonna use the rest of those, or just flirt?"

They were not flirting. Really, they _weren't_. Her and Will Darcy? She scoffed at the very thought.

She opened her mouth to deny it. "Those two things aren't mutually exclusive."

_That was _not _what she meant to come out. _Will tossed a third ping-pong ball up and down, brief (smug) grin a flash of dimples and bright teeth. "Theoretically speaking."

"Hypothetically."

"It couldn't possibly apply in the case of you and me."

"Never."

"Not even if I were the last man on earth."

"I'd become a lesbian."

"Which is _obviously _why your hand's on my arm."

Lizzie jumped. And realized he was right. Her hand _was _on his arm, lightly resting upon corded muscle, and damn if it wasn't comfortable. _Must be all the wine_, she thought dazedly. But the contact that she'd unconsciously sought was like a beacon, now that she was aware of it, almost electric in the humming warmth it sent rolling through her.

She snatched it back.

"I never said I didn't like it."

Heat flushed down her neck. As did a little thrill of pleasure. _He likes it when I touch him._

His lips, so kissable – God, she didn't just think that either – nearly grazed the top of her ear, and without thinking, she collapsed toward him, falling against a well-defined chest. Impossibly gray eyes flecked with the occasional sprinkle of gold widened for the most infinitesimal of moments. And then, smoothly, without the hesitation that marked so many of their non-rancorous exchanges, his arms wrapped around her.

_This was bad_. _Really bad._ Damn, but she _liked _being held like this, liked the security blanket it seemed to throw over her, as if they were the center of the world and no one else existed. The faint smell of cologne. The little hollow that seemed made for her head to rest against. The surface warmth that somehow ignited a burning sensation deep within her. And, from the rapid rise and fall of his chest, he seemed to feel the same.

"No refunds."

Without turning to look or breaking his hold on her, Will hurled the ping-pong ball he still grasped in the general vicinity of the bowls. There was a clink when it landed, and then –

A fluffy white tiger was thrust in front of her face. She sputtered on its fur.

"You won," the vendor said, sounding thoroughly disgruntled as he shoved the stuffed animal into her arms. "Now get out."

* * *

**Monday, 9:39 PM**

"Mm," Lizzie nearly moaned as she sipped from her shotglass. (At this point, she was pretty sure taking shots the usual way was no longer safe.) "So good."

After being hurriedly chased away by the vendor, who looked as if he might be sick if he continued to look at them, they'd made their way out of the casino. And straight into another one. In their defense, they'd both consumed slightly more alcohol than would keep them sober – although nowhere near the pinnacles of the Vegas standard.

The flashing lights of Excalibur (yes, Lizzie had a thing for castles) and loudly clubbing grad students made it altogether resemble a frat party. Except medieval. And better. Much, much, better, because even a slightly inebriated Darcy was a fantastic poker player, to no one's surprise.

Lizzie just liked watching him win.

…Especially because a third of the profits were hers, since she'd donated a few twenties to the effort.

In the interest of full disclosure, she also liked watching him in general. Which sounded creepy. But really wasn't, because he was hot, and who was she to deny it? (Yeah, Lizzie knew very well that she was probably drinking more rounds than she strictly should, but she was enjoying herself too much to watch it end. And for the bickering to return. Gosh, they got along so much better with alcohol.)

Long, elegant piano-player's fingers swept over five cards as the table watched with fierce anticipation. Her breath caught. _No flipping way_.

"You're kidding me," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief as she caught sight of a straight flush. "I can't decide if you're the best cheater I've ever seen, or the luckiest man on the planet."

"What if I told you you're my luck?"

"I'd say it was a cheesy pickup line."

He grinned boyishly, so at odds with his usual starch, breathtakingly charming in its own way. "Did it work?"

"Maybe," she allowed, laughing. Will swept up his winnings and stood firmly on his feet without even swaying. Lizzie mentally cursed the greater body mass that gave him the ability to drink her under the table. Then took it all back, because that greater body mass was damn _fine_. "Leaving already?"

"Quit while you're ahead is a good motto to live by. Isn't that right, Fluffy?"

"Her name," Lizzie corrected, clutching the tiger possessively, "is Sierra."

"But Fluffy is so _nice _for stuffed animals."

"And why is that?"

"Because it applies equally to all of them."

"Sierra takes offense to that."

Will said his polite goodbyes to the other players, then eyed the massive toy warily as they exited the room. "Tell _Sierra _that if it doesn't become less offended soon, it will be given as a gift to Lydia."

She winced. Her youngest sister was well known for decapitating her dolls as a child.

"Sierra concedes the point."

* * *

**Monday, 10:51 PM**

As she yanked the lever of the slot machine for the three hundred and fifty-third time (bringing the grand investment to a total of three dollars and fifty-three cents), Lizzie was finding that sometime that night, she'd stopped disliking Will and moved in the opposite direction instead.

She discovered he was funny, in his own subtle way; he could on occasion laugh at himself; and he was even a little sweet, when he'd defended her from Pufferfish and afterwards when he'd let her lean on him. He was either absurdly lucky or a brilliant gambler. He was generous enough to give her the tiger. (Or she was possessive enough to hold it hostage.)

And a part of her was wishing the night would never end, because that little piece also knew that tomorrow morning, she would be back to sober Lizzie with a grudge and Will would revert to sober Darcy that couldn't stand the sight of her, and they would just fight and make each other miserable all over again.

But for now, she would just enjoy the moment while it lasted.

"What would you do with the money if you won?"

Lifting her eyes from her tightly crossed fingers (for luck) to Will's inquiring gaze, she considered briefly. "Save it, probably."

"Why?"

"I don't know what I want to do yet," Lizzie confessed. "I love my job, but everything else…" She shrugged. "I guess a family, one day, with a husband and kids, but I'm not sure. I haven't even dated for the last three years."

A puzzled frown knit his brows together.

"Eighty hour weeks," she said in response to the unasked question, "make it hard to maintain a relationship."

He grimaced. The understanding in his eyes was priceless; more than sympathy, it was as if he simply _got _her. "You're right."

"It's just – it's a tough tradeoff. I feel like I'm missing out on so much else, but I can't ever imagine giving up my job, or giving up making partner." Realizing she was starting to sound somewhere between sentimental and morose, she attempted to lighten the mood. "But I might take a vacation."

"To the Caribbean?"

Startled, she accidentally pulled the lever. Five dollar prize – not too shabby. (And was it just her, or was the ground moving?) "Telepathy another one of your talents?"

"No, Charles told me."

"_You and Charlie talk about me_?"

"Woah, no. He just likes to rhapsodize about Jane. You come up occasionally."

"Good." And yet, she felt inexplicably disappointed. "Wait, what do you mean by 'rhapsodize?'"

Will laughed, rich and deep. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"_Oh_."

"Yeah."

"I like it when you laugh," Lizzie said abruptly. "Do it again."

"Sorry, can't do it on command."

There it was again, that stupid dimple when he smiled. It was unfair, really, how kissable it looked. Or maybe it was the crooked corner of his mouth, left slightly higher than the right that really got to her. Or even his lips themselves – she'd tried to avoid thinking about them at all – full but not feminine. Or –

_Fuck it all._

Lizzie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

* * *

**A/N: **Apologies again for the slower than usual update. School's been a monster the last two weeks. Anyway, thanks so much for all the encouraging reviews! I am **still looking for a beta **if anyone's interested, so PM me.

...Darcy is giving you _that _look. **Press the review button, please.**

-Saelia


	6. 5: An Impromptu Wedding

**What Happens in Vegas**

* * *

**************5. An Impromptu Wedding**  
_and more of the second vice_

**Monday, 10:56 PM**

He was utterly still.

For a moment, anxiousness reigned supreme, tugging at her chest in a way she didn't (wish to) understand. He didn't want her. She'd ruined it; she'd brought everything to an end earlier than necessary. _He was going to let her go._ The night couldn't be over yet – _dammit, she was going to get her ten hours of wonderful_ –

His lips crushed hers with surprising force.

Large hands cupped the graceful curve of the small of her back, tenderly yet forcefully pulling her in. She couldn't get close enough. Their bodies molded together like two pieces of a long unfinished puzzle, and she forgot to breathe as their tongues intertwined, the heat of the kiss roaring through her body with sudden flames. Her fingers were everywhere: his chest, his hair, his face.

It wasn't her first kiss, not by a long shot, but it was a first nonetheless. A first where she lost sense of everything else, where she forgot all sense of reason, all sense of time and place, everything except the ability to feel. His teeth nipped the bottom of her lip, and another rush of heat burst like a firework, until she couldn't help but moan, "_Will_."

Strong hands grasped her shoulders and thrust her back.

Dazed, she could only stare.

"We can't do this." The line of his jaw was stark as he swallowed, face turned away. Unreadable again. But her _own_ expression – she inhaled twice, slowly, schooling her features into blankness lest too much be written there.

"Why not?"

"You'll regret it tomorrow morning."

On impulse, her palm slid over his lips to shush him. _He never said that _he_ would regret it._

He spun to disconnect from her touch. His eyes, pools of liquid silver in the dim light, were burning, scorching in their intensity. For a moment, she thought he would acquiesce. But his hands closed around her wrists, pinning them to her side in gentle refusal.

"Lizzie, you're drunk," he said hoarsely. She inhaled the scent of white chocolate and vodka and giggled.

"And you aren't? C'mon, Will, you're hammered. Do something _without _thinking for once. Let's just have tonight."

His eyes closed briefly.

"What if I want more than just tonight?"

The world stopped spinning.

Paralysis set in as the silence dragged interminably. Her mind wouldn't function except to play his words on some bizarre repeat, like a broken record: _more than just tonight, more than just tonight, more than just tonight, _more.

His jaw clenched. His hands released hers, leaving her empty without their presence. "That's what I thought."

_More than just tonight_.

She wasn't ready for that.

Yet neither was she proof against the set of his mouth; something, she realized, that belied hurt. Hurt that seemed entirely out of place on the stern, commanding presence of a man who knew and got what he wanted. Automatically, she reached to smooth it all away with caresses. A new refrain mixed in the old in her mind: _fix it, more than just tonight, fix it, more_.

He flinched. She gripped his arm regardless, pressing against him, listening to his breath hitch. It was wrong of her. She knew that, and yet she couldn't stop. _Anything_ to get rid of this pressure in her chest. The pressure that reminded her of –

Suddenly, it was so absolutely, exhilaratingly clear.

"Okay."

He jerked. Disbelief was written all over his face. "What?"

"Okay," she repeated. Then, like a confession: "I want more too."

A tiny shudder, almost convulsive in its rapidness. She wasn't sure which of them moved first – but they were kissing again, kissing in a moment that Lizzie wanted never to end.

* * *

**Monday, 11:54 PM**

A bar. Really, a _bar_.

It was probably pathetic that she wasn't entirely sure how they got there anymore. Making out next to the slot machines. Something someone had yelled about getting a room.

Okay, admittedly, she and Will were both totally drunk off their asses. And it was _fun_. When _was _the last time she'd gone out just to have fun like this? She couldn't remember. And winced because she couldn't remember, because she was twenty-seven and too young to be so…boring. Even if being not boring was entirely irresponsible and whatever.

"Raspberry _tequila_," Will muttered.

She grinned. "Rare is the day you see a new drink – try it or regret it."

"Try it _and _regret it seems more likely."

"Don't be such a Debbie-downer," she chastised.

It wasn't funny, but somehow, they both found it hilarious, bursting into pealing fits of laughter.

"I think that's the first time anyone's ever called me that," Will gasped between chuckles.

Lizzie raised her shotglass in sarcastic salute. "To new experiences!"

Their glasses clinked loudly enough to be heard over the din of voices of the other patrons, liquid sloshing (and spilling just ever so slightly) at contact.

Comfortable quiet rested between them, just enjoying each other's company.

"But really, you've never had raspberry tequila sangria before?"

"I take tequila with salt and lemon."

She shuddered playfully. "The things you missed in life. Even your _drinks _have to be prepared properly – hand me that lemon, will you?"

Accepting the proffered fruit, she grabbed his glass ("Hey!") and squeezed a bit in. Then she stirred in a third of her own drink and proudly handed him the concoction. He eyed it warily. _It's not poisoned._

Picking up her own glass, she slowly ran her tongue along part of the rim, relishing the taste. And the fact that his eyes were glued to her while she did. "I mixed drinks in college." _A barista, but he doesn't need to know that_.

Cautiously, he took a sip. The blissful smile that resulted, lopsided as always, made something melt inside her all over again. "A woman who knows her alcohol," he exclaimed in mock wonder, clasping his hands together as if he were holding a ring. "Marry me, Lizzie."

Giggling, she hooked her arm in his. "How can I possibly refuse?" She shaped her voice into one of breathless happiness. "Yes, Will, _yes_!"

…Somehow, she sounded crazy loud. Like she was shouting. She frowned. She wasn't shouting, was she? About to test the theory, she looked up – and saw that every person in the bar was staring at them.

The thunderous applause broke the silence.

"You go, girl," someone yelled from a shadowy corner of the room, while Will received masculine slaps on the back from a congregation of guys that seemed to have suddenly materialized beside him.

"Congrats, man!"

"How romantic," gushed a woman with purple highlights, casting a pointed glare at the man sitting across from her.

"Sweet."

"Watch at how they look at each other. Isn't it adorable?"

"Young love…"

A tap on Lizzie's shoulder. "Hey, I know this is random, but…can I see the ring?"

"I – I don't think – "

But even as she was framing her denial, the only thing she could think of was how she couldn't imagine losing this. Losing _him_.

(In another world, this thought process would never have crossed her mind. Under the flashing colored lights, inebriation buzzing in her veins, it all became plausible.)

"Will," she said quietly, "I think I need a ring."

She met stunned grey eyes. Beautiful ones, really. _Live in the moment_. Her hand clasped his, and it was like electricity passing between them, communicating without words, only in the here and now. His shock gave way to a heart-stopping grin.

Incredulity. Awe. And then the onset of amazement, and joy, because despite the fog, she – _they_ – had won.

From the dizzy expression on the blonde who'd posed the question, Lizzie wasn't the only one affected by Will's smiles. A surge of possessiveness crested. She draped her arm around his broad shoulders, steadying herself as she stood. _Hers. _"Nothing too flashy," she instructed, trying not to tip over – why _had _she worn heels?

"Come with me and we can pick one together." The invitation slurred ever so slightly. His steps, however, remained steady, in opposition to the racing of her heart.

She beamed. "I could hug you right now."

"Why don't you?"

"Because I don't think I can lean towards you without falling over." The ground did seem to be moving an awful lot.

"I'll catch you," he murmured, and at that moment, she believed he would – always.

* * *

**Tuesday, 12:14 AM**

"Try it."

It was beautiful, that she couldn't deny. A silver band etched with tiny swirls provided the base. The stone was large and glittering, light dancing off each carefully cut facet. A classic round diamond that had to be at least two and a half carats.

"This is too much," she protested. _Too expensive_. She didn't want him spending extravagantly on her. It wasn't about pride – but money complicated matters, and the last thing she wanted was for this wonderfully simple bond they shared to be complicated.

He frowned. "Give me your hand."

Unsteadily, she did as asked. She wasn't sure if it was herself trembling or his wrist. His movements weren't hesitant. Instead, they were slow and deliberate, as if this was the most natural act he had ever done. The cool touch of metal sliding up her ring finger was in sharp contrast with the warmth of his skin – and she found herself silently agreeing, that this, of everything, felt most like it was right.

"Perfect."

The side of his mouth kicked up. "So I was right."

"So you were." Unable to help teasing him, she added, "But don't get too used to it. Not if you're with me."

He shut her up with a kiss.

* * *

**Tuesday, 12:30 AM**

"Do you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, take Elizabeth Bennet to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, 'till death do you part?"

He appeared so perfectly serious. Amazingly so, when confronting a minister in a backwards baseball cap (who looked on the verge of apoplexy, considering how red he was from reading all that in one breath), witnesses that they'd dragged from the corridors – one the purple-haired girl from the bar, another her dour companion, and the third the squealing blonde who just _wouldn't take her eyes off –_

"I do," Will said solemnly. Turning, he angled his head so that only she could see his right eye and winked.

A funny sound between a giggle and a hiccup escaped in spite of her best efforts.

The minister – if he could really be called that – glared. "Do you, Elizabeth Bennet, take Fitzwilliam Darcy to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, 'till death do you part?"

She looked at Will. And smiled so hard that she feared her face might split in two.

"I do."

* * *

**Tuesday, 1:00 AM**

They made it to the hotel room in a tangle of limbs, his lips at her ear, her arm hooked around his waist, only stopping to slide the key card into its slot. When the door clicked open, they staggered towards the king-sized mattress and tumbled onto it.

And then they were kissing, kissing as if their lives depended on it. This one, however, was different from its predecessors: slow and lavish, no less intense for its pace, a claiming of the lips and tongue – although who was claiming whom, Lizzie would have found it hard pressed to say. A kiss that said they had all the time in the world – and yet none at all.

She rolled, pinning him to the mattress in a knot of sheets and exposed skin as her fingers fiddled with the clasps of her sweater, loving the feel of his firm chest against her cheek, loving the way his hands trailed up and down her thigh, loving his lips against her dark curls. It was all heat and caresses and pleasure, quite indescribable in its measure. For once in her life, she didn't want words, didn't want to speak. Just _this_.

Because this just might be more than enough.

* * *

**A/N:** And so ends Lizzie and Will's sojourn in Vegas! (At least the first part.) Hopefully, this wasn't too unbelievable - remember, they're both young and have had too many beers...

I was blown away by the number of reviews I received for the last chapter. Thanks so much for all the support (and the beta offers)! And yes, Wickham will _definitely _be making an appearance. A few of them, actually. I think I have the perfect role for him...

Next chapter will open with Lizzie fully sober again. And probably a Darcy POV, although I'm not promising anything. **R&R!**

-Saelia


	7. Interlude: Jane

**What Happens in Vegas  
**

* * *

******Interlude: Jane**_******  
**__so about that flu_

_**Chicago**_

Yawning, Jane Bennet (soon to be Bingley) opened her eyes. Her gaze roved over her flowery wallpaper – she'd always been a vintage sort of girl – settling on different pieces of her life she was thankful for, as she did every morning, as almost every inch of space was covered with photos.

Photos, of herself and Charlie, smiling so brilliantly at senior prom ten years ago. He wore a black tuxedo, one of the rare times he'd dressed up, a gardenia pinned to his slightly rumpled jacket. She was in a blue tulle dress, glowing, delighted because the world was so open and full of possibility – and, she thought fondly as she snuggled further into Charlie's arms, still was. There were photos of Mary's piano concerts (one containing a rare smile from the most serious of Jane's sisters), of Lydia shimmying wildly to the music under bright strobe lights, of Kitty swimming and lounging at a Floridian beach with smudges of white sunscreen all over her grinning freckled face. And Lizzie, holding a gleaming debate trophy that looked larger than she was, looking so determined.

Lizzie had always been the cautious one. The ambitious one. Oh, she could have fun, and she was given to doing impulsive things, but on the whole, she'd had her life planned out since she was in high school and spent the last ten years chasing her dreams. But lately…

She looked burned out, Jane recalled. Tired, perhaps even a little jaded. (And who wouldn't be, working at the rate her sister did?) Her sister was pretty, prettier than she gave herself credit for, but that thick chestnut hair had been losing its luster, the smooth complexion more sallow than it had any right to be.

_This sojourn in Las Vegas would be good for Lizzie_.

Sky blue eyes moved to the gilded frame hanging next to Lizzie's. Charlie, adorable and proud at his college graduation, one arm around her and another around Will. Jane wasn't quite sure what to make of Will upon meeting Charlie's best friend for the first time. She remembered him as handsome and intelligent, but always reserved.

Until recently, anyway.

With Lizzie…

…So Jane might have made her flu look _slightly _worse than it really was. But, somehow, she had the feeling that a trip to Vegas might be exactly what Will and Lizzie needed.

* * *

**A/N: **I thought I'd post _something _to show I'm still around. Apologies that it isn't a chapter. I know it's been a ridiculous time since I've updated, and I'm very sorry - real life has been crazy and hectic and I just haven't had time to write. But things have slowed down, the **next chapter should be posted in around a week** (I promise). It's been mostly completed, and is on the verge of being sent for betaing (and this beta is absolutely fantastic, btw C: ).

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and reading!

-Saelia


	8. 6: The Morning After

**What Happens in Vegas**

* * *

**********6. The Morning After**  
_it feels like shattered glass**  
**_

_**Present Day**_

**Tuesday, 10:45 AM**

It was as if Lizzie's brain had just shut off.

"Ohmigod."

"What's wrong?" he asked sleepily, rolling slowly to face her. The blanket slipped to reveal broad, muscular shoulders – wait. Were those _scratches_? If, in that moment, Lizzie could actually form coherent thoughts, she might have died of embarrassment.

But she couldn't.

She groped for the bedpost, wedding ring digging painfully into her skin as she hauled herself up and lurched toward the bathroom. Her stomach rocked and her head felt as if it was being slammed against a wall, not to mention the slight chill she felt from being dressed only in a thin black camisole and matching pajama shorts – but try as she might, she couldn't focus on her physical discomfort any more than she could forget last night.

The toilet came closer in her vision, lining up beneath her just in time. She heaved. Then heaved again.

Good God, this was literally like something out of a bad chick flick. The worst-case scenario come to life. Or maybe a chapter of Aesop-meets-Hugh-Hefner. The underlying moral: _Don't cut loose, kids. _

When there was nothing left, Lizzie flushed the mess away with a trembling hand, then padded to the sink to wash her face. And grimaced. She looked awful, dark curls resembling nothing less than a rat's nest, large and bloodshot brown eyes overshadowed by even larger purple circles that made her pale skin appear almost ill.

"So this is the truth of what men find after marriage," Will murmured from behind. Irritation bubbled. Couldn't he show _some _concern? She spun to snap back at him and lost track of her clever retort as the memory of long, lean legs and narrow hips rubbing against her skin made a shiver shudder up her spine.

_Bad Lizzie. Very, very bad._

Clinging to what remained of her sanity, Lizzie cleared her throat. "Just give me a moment." Translation: _Please leave so I don't have to live with the fact that Will Darcy saw me puking my guts out_.

Pushing off the sink, she attempted to walk to the door and promptly tripped. Strong hands steadied her. The warmth that rushed through her at contact was terrifying.

"You don't look so good."

"Thanks."

"I didn't mean it that way," he said with wry amusement. Realizing he was still holding her, she stepped away. She needed space – he was overwhelming, like that. When he was touching her, somehow, she couldn't think. Not objectively. Instead, she just wanted to melt into a squishy puddle of goo. But she wasn't going to. Not when the stakes were so high.

Filling a glass with tap water, she took a huge gulp, relishing the cool liquid in her parched throat. _Married_. _Still can't believe it. _

Except that glittering stone on her ring finger kept sparkling, gorgeously unsettling evidence that the night had actually happened. Panic set in. Hasty weddings inevitably proved disastrous. Her parents were living proof of that. _God, if she ever had to endure anything like that –_

"We need a lawyer."

Steely eyes pinned her to the shower curtain.

"A lawyer," Will repeated flatly.

Suddenly uncomfortable at his blank expression, Lizzie weakly attempted to joke, "Unless you're secretly a family law specialist?"

"I'm not, no." Cool, nonchalant. "And I don't want a divorce."

The glass of water shattered as it hit intricate stone tiles.

"Sorry?"

"We get along well enough," Will appeared to be saying. Bizarrely, _Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down_ played on repeat in her head. "Give this a chance."

"A chance," she repeated woodenly.

A faint smile played on the edges of shapely lips. "We _did _get married."

The statement of cold reality was enough to snap Lizzie out of her lethargy. _Get along well enough_. This was marriage he was talking about, not hiring a receptionist, marriage, which should be based on mutual trust and affection. Her lips thinned into a flat line."While totally wasted."

"Perhaps. But it was enough to overcome any of my misgivings. Your family, for instance."

His eyes caught hers with a faintly challenging stare – those arrestingly gray eyes still steely, still unreadable in their depths. Gorgeous.

…A gorgeous _jerk_, then. How could she have forgotten? He, who'd never apologized for their first meeting – and apparently still found the Bennets beneath him. Lizzie hated how something sharp stabbed into her stomach at the thought.

"And that," she said icily, "is a perfect example of why we'd never suit."

His expression didn't change. Still calm, still untouchable, still Will Darcy. (And no, she was _not _examining him for any sign of – sign of anything, and she was _not _disappointed.)

"Because I'm not fond of your family?"

_Be firm_, she reminded herself_, this is going to be your life. _"This marriage was a mistake."

"Why?" he asked gently. Lizzie's resolve wavered. Gritting her teeth, she called to herself all the reasons she had to dislike him, antipathy forming like a shield.

"I never _wanted_ to marry you. As far as 'getting along well enough' goes, I was so buzzed that I could have married anyone who was there."

The words rushed out of her with a vicious bite that she immediately regretted. But the damage was done. Will jerked back as if she had slapped him. A faint paleness became visible around that piercing gaze, and the thin set of his mouth could be described as anger.

"I think we'll need separate lawyers."

She tempered down the vitriol. "Listen to me," she entreated cautiously, "we can work this out like reasonable adults."

If possible, the corners of his eyes became even tighter. "I think you have a different interpretation of 'reasonable adult' than I do, Elizabeth."

The name sounded foreign rolling off his tongue, almost like it wasn't her. Anyone who was anything to her called her Lizzie. There was a distance with 'Elizabeth,' a distance she should be relieved for. (So why did it hurt?)

"The _reasonable _thing to do is call this off before it affects anything else – "

"No, the reasonable thing would be to accept responsibility for it happening and realize _why _it did!" Will said furiously, calm façade cracking at last. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Especially since this was your idea in the first place – from what I _do _remember, _that_ at least was quite clear."

"Because I was completely buzzed! Obviously, I wasn't in my right mind when – " She stopped, aware that she was about to cross a line that should not be transgressed. Bright splotches of color rose on her cheeks.

His voice was low and dangerous. "When what?"

Lizzie swallowed. To her dismay, her words trembled when she spoke. "I think we both need to cool down before we say something we regret."

"We? Or you? Please, don't be afraid of offending me," he said sarcastically. "I want to be enlightened – why would we 'never suit?'"

The way he mockingly flung her words back at her made already gathered anger rush up and bubble within her until she was faintly simmering. "How could I possibly marry someone who told me he had to get wasted in order to stomach the idea of marrying into my family?"

"You're twisting my words. I won't pretend to like your mother and sisters, and, I think, with good reason – but I never said _that._"

"No, I don't think I am," she retorted.

The corners of Will's mouth turned down grimly. He appeared to be struggling to keep his composure. "Is that the only reason, then? That I don't approve of your family? Beyond not being a good match, they're entirely incapable of polite behavior. Your sister Lydia, for one."

She flushed. Lydia had cornered him on one of the rare occasions he visited and attempted to seduce him, with embarrassing results. (Perhaps the reason he made her so angry was because what he said was probably true.) But the way he condemned them, the way he condemned _her_ –

"And you're so much better? You're rude, arrogant and completely oblivious to the feelings of anyone who's not the Great Fitzwilliam Darcy! The first time I met you, you automatically assumed I was incompetent and 'using' Charlie."

"That was –"

Lizzie cut him off. "I can also guess that _you_ were the one who broke Jane and Charlie up their freshman year of college – did you know that she came home and cried for _two weeks_ when she heard he was partying with other girls? And, not to mention, you stole my taxi!"

" – _Your taxi_?"

"What, don't have anything to say about Jane?"

His jaw set. "I won't deny it. Especially considering you've already decided on a guilty verdict."

"Then I can't possibly stay married to the person who came closest to ruining my sister's happiness."

His eyes swept over her, containing a potent combination of cold hauteur and heated fury. "No, I suppose you can't – and thank God I realized that early."

The contempt in that sentence made her bristle, retort already forming on her lips. But he was already gone. The door slammed shut with a reverberating clang that made her hangover-induced headache even worse.

Numbly, she stumbled to her suitcase, barely managing to avoid the broken glass. She fumbled with the catch for what seemed to be an interminable time before finally shoving it open, pulling out a thin sweater and dark wash jeans. There was a perverse desire to dress as casually as she could short of going out in her pajamas. That way, at least she wouldn't be an uptight neat freak. Except that neat freaks could also be spontaneous.

…Kind, even. Extravagant on impulse.

Her thoughts automatically slipped to the ring she'd so admired last night. Physically, it couldn't be more than a few millimeters wide; mentally, it was suffocating her, sucking her into something she couldn't escape not matter how hard she clung to the walls. Her fingers scrabbled frantically at metal: _Get it off, get it off, get it _off.

It wouldn't budge.

Her limbs were so heavy by now, heavy enough that it seemed like her heart would be dragged down with them. Vision blurred.

…And, for the first time in years, Elizabeth Bennet sank into the bed and cried.

* * *

**Tuesday, 12:00PM**

Will wasn't returning her texts.

Lizzie took a sip of her latte, letting the warm liquid cool on her tongue. In the intermittent two hours, she'd pulled herself together. It had been tempting to stay in the hotel room and wallow for the rest of the day. More tempting, in fact, than she cared to admit. And if not for the wedding, she might be there still.

Men and women bustled around her, frantic in a touristy kind of way: no crazy hard deadlines, but places to go and people to meet. Yet, despite the rush outside, the coffee shop remained strangely empty. An obviously bored barista stood behind the counter, bright purple-streaked hair piled into an elegant updo; to Lizzie's left, a man – around her age, or possibly a little younger – sat scanning something on his tablet. An elderly lady across the aisle clutched a martini in one hand and an outrageously neon zebra-patterned clutch in the other.

Absorbed in thought, Lizzie didn't pay the other inhabitants of the café any mind. With her temper – and panic – somewhat subsiding, she knew shouldn't have said what she did. She didn't want to stay married – no, this morning had only proved how that arrangement would make both of them miserable – but neither did she have the right to take her hysteria out on him. Neither could she plan for Jane's wedding without him.

Blindly, she gazed in the general vicinity of rising steam from stirring her drink. How had she managed to make such a mess of everything?

Recognizing the wave of self pity washing over her, her hand moved faster and faster, until the latte was a burning swirl of liquid. If she focused on making her drink as frothy as possible, perhaps she wouldn't have to think about anything beyond the present. _Round and round and round it goes_. Rich chocolate spun in a miniature cyclone, moving at such speeds that it appeared almost still, except for the dent at the center –

"Ow!" She bit hard on her lip as she winced. Flecks of liquid finally escaped, staining the sleeve of her white Dolman sweater and almost sizzling when making contact with her skin. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!"

"Let me."

Head snapping up, Lizzie met the friendly smile of the man in the corner. Up close, he was handsome, in a very typical sort of way: slicked back dirty blonde hair, slightly above average height, and pleasant features. She might have been interested in getting to know him another time – if she hadn't just lost a wedding's best man, succumbed to a blazing headache, and, _oh right_,gotten hitched. Now was not a good time.

"Thanks, but I've got it."

Undeterred, he continued to mop up the spill with a napkin. The easy smile he flashed her was probably a million watts. "I know you _can _handle it, but that doesn't mean a pretty girl like you should."

"This pretty girl wants to," Lizzie commented dryly. She moved closer, trying to edge him away from the table as she reached for a napkin. The silver-haired woman briefly glanced up at the movement before downing the rest of her liquor.

The man winked. "Beautiful _and _hardworking."

A tiny smile slipped through. "Are you always this complimentary in the morning to women you don't know?"

"Maybe," he said, ducking his gaze for a moment before grinning up at her. "I'm George."

"Elizabeth. Lizzie, to friends."

"Am I a friend now?"

"Maybe," she mimicked noncommittally. His smile widened.

"Say, Liz, I like you. What do you say to lunch?"

Lizzie was already off balance from leaning to catch a last drop of coffee. Entirely startled, she set her left hand on the table to steady herself. And silently cursed as she saw the glittering diamond band still on her ring finger.

Evidently, George noticed it as well. His eyebrows shot upwards. "Wow, that's one big sparkler. I didn't realize you were married –"

"It's bit of a story," she blushed. "But I probably won't be for much longer."

He nodded sympathetically. "Hasty Vegas wedding, then?"

"How did you know?"

George shrugged a little sheepishly. "Actually, I see a lot of cases like these at work. My firm specializes in quick divorces, since it's Las Vegas and all. You wouldn't believe some of the things people do – "

Lizzie perked up. "You're a divorce attorney?"

"Yeah – "

"And your field of expertise is divorces – for hasty marriages – without a ton of dragging things through the courts and extended argumentation?"

"Well, more Sandler and Sandler's niche than mine personally, but I guess –"

_Was that a man with a _briefcase _outside the window?_

"You know, I might just take you up on that offer for lunch," she murmured distractedly, rummaging through her bag for a slip of paper. Scrawling down her number, she offered it to him. "Call me later?"

"Sure." George appeared thoroughly bewildered. "Tomorrow work for you?"

"Whenever is good. Sorry, I'll have to talk to you later, bye!"

Her steps out were almost at running pace as she rushed out – she did have a Fitzwilliam Darcy to catch, after all.

* * *

**A/N:**

Finally starting the present day storyline. Thanks again for sticking with _What Happens in Vegas_ (and all the kind reviews)! I'm back to writing, now that I have spare time again.

This chapter would not have been what it is if not for Julia (neska-polita), who's the most amazing beta ever. And just all around awesome C:

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter + **R&R**!

-Saelia


	9. 7: A Little Bit Wicked

**What Happens in Vegas**

* * *

**************7. A Little Bit Wicked**  
_or possibly more Wickham  
_

**Tuesday, 12:18PM**

Keeping sight of Will wasn't particularly hard. While his crisp white button-down and dark slacks were sinfully attractive, they also stuck out like a sore thumb amid the wave of t-shirts and jean shorts. Unfortunately, standing a head taller than Lizzie, he also walked with considerably longer strides. She rolled her eyes – exasperating man, why couldn't he have been short?

Nearly jogging to catch him, she gained quite a few glares as she pushed and shoved her way through pedestrians. She almost scoffed. There was a certain superciliousness intrinsic to any decent disapproving stare, and these had _nothing _on Will's.

"Darcy!" she shouted.

If he heard her, he gave no sign of it. Lizzie's eyes narrowed. _Screw it._ Clutching her purse strap tightly enough for the quilted pattern to scrunch into a single solid blue line, she took a deep breath and sprinted through the traffic.

It was a good thing that she grew up with four sisters, she thought a little ruefully as she caught sight of the looks people were giving her. Pretending ignorance proved a useful skill to have in times like these.

Closing in, she grabbed his arm. Will turned. The hard, glittering quality in his eyes did not bode well. Neither, for that matter, did the chill he managed to emanate – Lizzie wasn't quite sure why she wasn't frozen. Perhaps it was the sense of sinking combined with tingling nerves. She hugged herself a little, taking a second to ensure the glue, clearly strained, holding her composure together would not fail.

"We need to talk," she said quietly.

"No." His voice was brusque. "We don't."

"Don't be stubborn." Sensing a retort, she plunged forward before he could speak. "Jane and Charlie still have a wedding – we can't check the preparations if we're giving each other the silent treatment. And–" she hesitated, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear– "for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

His eyes softened. Lizzie pressed her advantage.

"Come on," she muttered, dragging him towards a nearby Italian restaurant. "I know you don't want to have this conversation out on the street."

Once inside the restaurant, they were greeted by a smiling waiter and ushered to a tiny table for two in a corner of the ivory-draped room. Lizzie ruefully wished the colors, combined with the romantic cloth flowers and golden gilt, weren't quite so reminiscent of wedded bliss.

The flipping of pages shifted her attention to the man sitting across from her pretending to peruse the menu.

Lizzie studiously examined the tablecloth (off-white, with a raised diamond pattern and lace trim).

Will flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt.

She straightened a wrinkle.

The silence was unbearably stifling. An anomaly, really. In all the time she'd known Will, they'd either bickered constantly or purposefully given each other contemptuous stares. They'd been antagonistic but comfortable, and, to Lizzie's astonishment, she found herself missing his biting remarks.

"So," she began awkwardly, "as I said – I'm sorry for what I said this morning."

The menu snapped shut. "You've changed your mind?"

Startled at the intensity in his gaze, she gave a shaky laugh that sounded too high even to her own ears. "I – Will, we barely _know _each other."

"Two years."

"Since that disastrous office meeting?"

The side of his mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. "No, since I stole your taxi."

She shook her head, grinning back in spite of herself. "The taxi thing came after. You wouldn't remember, but it was snowing in New York that afternoon, and I got _drenched_ because you claimed the last empty cab that drove by for the next ten minutes."

"I would have stopped, you know."

"Sorry?"

"If I'd known, I would have waited for you."

It would have been a light remark but for its delivery. His purpose made her feel small and outclassed; he was so certain and she was teetering on the edge of a cliff she wasn't sure whether or not to jump from. Yet ridiculous warmth bubbled up within her, which only made Lizzie more confused than ever.

"I'm not going to change my mind." Lizzie wasn't sure whether her proclamation was for his benefit or her own. She took a deep breath, deep enough that the loose sweater felt tight across her chest. "But that doesn't matter. I think we need to focus on the wedding – I don't want to screw it up with this."

"Because it's so inconvenient all around?"

"That's not what I meant at all," she protested, flushing. "If you'd stop taking everything I say as an insult – "

"All things considered, I don't think I misinterpret," Will interrupted. He laughed sharply. "You're right, though, about Charles and Jane."

Uncomfortable and besieged by an odd sense of trepidation, she continued. "We'll work things out after, then. I also – I'd like it if we didn't say anything to my family. My mom, well," Lizzie rolled her eyes skyward, "she'd probably have an aneurysm if she found out."

"That you got married while drunk in Vegas?"

"No, it's the divorce part that would probably send her into palpitations."

At his probing look, she smiled ruefully. "Mom thinks I'm hopeless – with good cause – but it would make her day that I managed to catch a man, any man."

His cold expression, while remaining tight, dissolved into an adorable furrow etched between strong brows. "You're not hopeless."

"Thank you."

Will ignored her sarcasm. He leaned in, shifting his weight to bare forearms dusted with hair, more than a little distracting when Lizzie recalled the night before. "You know, you're only giving me more incentive by assuring me your family approves."

So close. Warm, soothing, a hint of deliciously crisp mint. It took her a moment to gather her bearings. Seconds longer to arch a brow in amusement, as if she wasn't affected at all.

"_Now _you're misinterpreting. What my mom approves of, my dad definitely won't, especially when it comes to relationships."

"I sense a story."

Lizzie bit her lip, caught between laughing at the memory and acute embarrassment. "This one's a little out there."

"Remember, you're still convincing me to keep quiet. I have collateral," he reminded her, a hint of teasing in his voice. She relaxed a little; it was as if something within her chest unclenched. _Can't let _him_ think that, though._

"Fine!" Lizzie threw up her hands in exasperation. "The fall after I graduated from college, a man proposed to me. He was incredibly obnoxious, and we weren't even dating at the time. He cornered me at a huge dinner party in full view of most of my friends and family and asked me to marry him."

"You refused."

"I guess you could call it that. He had this huge bouquet of the most hideous purple flowers I'd ever seen – except he was allergic to pollen, and when he got on one knee, they got in his face. He sneezed so hard he fell over. I couldn't stop _laughing_ long enough to get a word out. Now that I think of it, I almost feel bad, except he's my cousin and that's just _gross_."

Will's eyes widened. A strangled sort of noise that might have been repressed laughter erupted from his throat. "Your _cousin_?"

"It's legal in Massachusetts," Lizzie asserted rather defensively, unable to help turning pink. "My mother told me that she'd never speak to me again if I didn't go back and agree to marry Collins. My father, on the other hand, told me that he'd never see me again if I did."

"His opposition could have been more a result of your suitor's, uh, relation to you than your mother's endorsement," Will pointed out.

"Probably both. My parents don't quite see eye to eye. Or at least, they don't once Mom's nerves get involved – which they always do. But in all seriousness – Will, I would really appreciate it if they don't find out."

His knuckles whitened as he gripped his drink. For a second, Lizzie almost thought he looked pained. But his face smoothed over so quickly that she must have imagined it.

"Why?"

_Because I'm not the type of person to get married in Vegas while drunk to a man I barely know._ Because she'd be labeled irresponsible and reckless at work. Because her mom would give her hell for it. Because her dad might not ever look at her the same way again. And most of all, because she wished that things hadn't gotten complicated, and all she wanted to do was to go back to Chicago and pretend this had never happened.

"Guess," she said with a tight little smile that, for once, didn't reach her eyes.

* * *

He'd agreed. In retrospect, she didn't know if there was a way for him not to; she wasn't even sure she'd ever really thought he wouldn't. For all his faults, Will was not a gossip, or a braggart.

Lunch had been uncomfortable after he'd acquiesced, though. Cold. Awkward. Formal. All things that her interactions with Will had never been until now. They'd argued constantly, but – oddly enough, now that she thought of it, they'd bickered almost like friends. She hadn't realized how empty she felt without it.

She wanted it back.

Her Blackberry vibrated against the cotton of her purse. Marie wanted another document and the completed case files Lizzie had looked over the night before. Lizzie tossed the phone back in her bag without replying.

The street was crowded, unusually so for cloudy March day; she had to jostle her way through towards the Bellagio. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do for the two hours until her appointment with Kate. Drowsiness sank upon her, more out of a desire to escape than actual weariness.

The stupid device rang again.

Lizzie gritted her teeth. She was _on vacation_, for God's sake, taking days off for the first time in two years. Perhaps the one time she didn't need to be at the partners' beck and call. Then again, she reminded herself, if she played her cards right, she'd _be _one of those delegators in six or seven years. She picked up.

"Hi, Lizzie, it's George."

"Hey." Surprised, the ire drained out of her.

"What do you say to coffee, right now?"

She paused. A call so soon had been unexpected. "Where to?"

"Starbucks at the corner of Luxe?"

"Okay, I'll see you there."

She hit the end button before he could say anything else. No, Lizzie didn't want to take coffee at Starbucks, where everything was overpriced and hazelnut coffee didn't exist. (Hazelnut was the only type of big chain coffee she could stand. Then again, being a former barista gave her some excuse for being a coffee snob.) But George seemed pleasant and, being a somewhat social person, she was starved for company that wasn't named Fitzwilliam Darcy.

The attorney proved easy to spot; he waved with the full length of his arms in a parody of a windmill, leaving a wide space around him (and gathering more than a few censorious stares). Easygoing _and_ fun. Lizzie grinned.

"You're good at getting attention," she remarked casually, sliding into the seat across from him. She sipped her coffee; too much sugar and roasted too mild for Sumatra.

"Only yours, I hope," George said, flashing her a wide smile. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I'm mostly interested in legal representation." His face visibly fell; Lizzie felt rather like she'd kicked a puppy. "You mentioned earlier today that your firm specializes in quick, painless divorces?"

"Yes, we do."

_Breathe in, breathe out_. "I need one."

"Why?"

"As I said earlier, it's a long story," Lizzie hedged. "I guess the short version is, well, there's this guy I know, and last night we both had a few shots too many, and _voila_." She gestured self-deprecatingly. "Hitched."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive vagueness right there."

"Yeah. Look, George, I just need to fix this_._"

His laughing brown eyes became serious as he nodded. "And how does the guy feel about the situation?"

"He doesn't know what he wants."

"He's indecisive?"

"No," she said with a short laugh, "the opposite, in fact. He thinks he wants to stay married. I have no doubt that, given time, he'll grow to resent it."

"Well, who _wouldn't _want to stay married to you?" her companion quipped. Catching sight of her arch look, he raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, purely business, I get it."

She smiled, dark eyes twinkling; her new acquaintance was too charming by half. "Good. So, tell me about your firm."

The sales pitch launched with enthusiasm. He was good, Lizzy noted, examining him with a fellow attorney's eye. Friendlier than was the norm than at her firm, but that wasn't entirely unexpected; her meetings with clients tended to take place amid champagne glasses and a constant, pervasive fear of spilling something on someone's polished black suit. There was something about the way he spoke that made him easy to talk to.

"What's your case record?"

"I've taken about ten, give or take. Only five went to court, and we've won four of those. The first of those was…messy." George grimaced. "The brother of our client interfered and damaged the case irreparably. We – that is, the brother and I – knew each other well – and while I can say I never wished him anything but the best, the same can't be said for his intentions towards me."

Shocked, Lizzie's fingers curled tightly around her macchiato. "He threw the trial for a grudge?"

"Wouldn't necessarily say he threw the trial on purpose. He lost it for a grudge. We grew up together; his dad adopted me in all but name after mine died. My client's brother never did get over sharing a parent. He'd also done pretty well for himself in corporate law – arrogant S.O.B. thought he could win the trial and show me up at the same time."

"You're still angry at him."

George looked away at Lizzie's surprised observation, but she didn't miss the way his shoulders tensed. "I knew his sister well, even before she got herself into trouble with the law. While I might have forgiven him for the way he treated me, I never forgave him for ignoring my advice out of spite and getting her sentenced to a six months. She was released early, but…it wasn't good for her."

"I'm sorry." Lizzie gently placed her hand on his arm. "That's horrible."

"Worst of it is that he made it out without a scratch. Never visited and went to the big city to become a hotshot lawyer. 'Course he would, with those fancy connections," George said bitterly. The depth of the hatred in those usually mild brown eyes startled her, as well as making her squirm. It was perfectly understandable that he felt so strongly. But the vicious quality to his expression caused her to pull away nonetheless.

"Oh," she murmured, unsure of what to say.

He relaxed into affability again, so instant and complete a change that not a trace of his prior vitriol showed. For some reason, albeit relieved the anger was gone, the rapidity of the transformation made Lizzie uneasy. "I'm boring you with morose stories, aren't I?"

"No, I'm not bored. Just – horrified that someone be so despicable to his own sister in pride and jealousy. What were you saying about your client development program before?"

"Oh, that. It's a custom to welcome our clients by inviting them to a show or two. Have you ever seen an illusionist before?"

"No," she admitted, "my parents were always more of the Nutcracker type."

"Then consider yourself invited."

"I couldn't – "

"I have spare tickets anyway. You'd be doing me a favor by making sure I don't waste tickets."

Lizzie mock-sighed. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"Well – "

"I'll be there."

* * *

**A/N: **Hit a bit of writer's block on this one. Also, expect a Darcy POV of some sort for real next chapter.

Thanks to neska-polita for betaing!

Reviews are greatly appreciated and, as always, make me writer faster ;)

-Saelia


	10. 8: Minute Crisis

**What Happens in Vegas**

* * *

**************8. Minute Crisis**  
_and a whole lot of other things  
_

It was mostly cloudy and gray above, but a thin stream of light filtered in from above, illuminating specks of pollen drifting in the air. Dust, however, was much less interesting than the woman whose arm was linked with his. They walked briskly – her strides were quick and decided, just as she herself was – except for the occasional wobble when she mis-stepped and her heels caught in a crack. She swayed a little when she moved. Whenever she did, a soft tendril of hair escaped from behind her ear and bobbed up and down over the sharp little blade of her nose, almost like a pendulum. The itch to tuck it back in place was strong.

He balled his fist and rammed it in his jacket pocket.

Her steps were light and graceful; he instinctively knew of the (terrifying) chance that she would float away. But when she tilted her head to face him with a challenge in dark eyes that could not quite conceal their playfulness, so much warmth enveloped him that he could be walking on clouds.

The thick aroma of hazelnut filled the air. He had never been fond of coffee – Charles often jokingly accused him of being a starchy highbrow due to his penchant for tea – yet it was there, a steaming cup within his grip. Stranger, it didn't even feel odd. Then he remembered why, and he wondered how he ever forgot.

"Here," he said, offering it to her.

He watched avidly for her reaction. Pictured what he expected. He was rarely graced with her smile, but it was carved in his memory far deeper than any law or statute. Ridiculously wide, yet also unpretentious and blissful, sparkling with a certain zest for life he'd rarely seen elsewhere.

Except her lips were not turning up at the corners. Instead, they quivered, and suddenly, she was crying, sobbing as if the world had ended, tears glistening at the end of long lashes. His heart clenched, and then pounded. He'd been so sure – it was her favorite, after all –

"What's wrong?" He reached helplessly towards her.

She flinched, and it was as if she'd slapped him. The tears kept coming. "You don't understand, do you? This is why we can never be together!"

**-~o~-**

He woke alone in the darkness.

* * *

Lizzie's hand slammed into the sleep button on her alarm with surprising vigor considering she was more asleep than not. _Ten more minutes…_

A sharp rap on the connecting door. She burrowed further under the comforter.

Impatiently, this time, Will's voice drifted into the room. "We need to be down in the lobby in three minutes."

_What?_

She flung off the covers and stared at the clock; the bright white letters read 10:27. _Shit_.

Lizzie darted to her bathroom and frantically brushed her teeth. She pulled on the first thing in her trunk, an unfortunately wrinkled green sundress, and slipped into a pair of flip-flops before wrenching the door open.

Turning to pick up her purse from the mahogany bureau, she felt, rather than saw, his eyes on her. She fought down her unreasonable embarrassment at the knowledge she looked a mess (she _didn't _want him to find her attractive) and snapped, "What?"

Annoyance rising at the ensuing silence, she was about to whirl around and demand an answer when she felt slightly callused fingers brush the exposed skin of her back. Tingles shot up and down her spine. Coherent thought dissipated like mist, and suddenly, it was that horrible (wonderful) night all over again, low laughter and heated skin and even a hint of desperation.

The fabric at her bust tightened as he zipped her dress. Lizzie wished she could fan herself; the air was hot and stifling even with half her back exposed. "Enjoying the view?"

Expecting his trademark starch, she was surprised by a dry chuckle. "It does put a silver lining on being late." Will's hands seemed to linger a moment longer than necessary before they reluctantly fell away. He straightened, expression blanking. "Unfortunately, Kate specified whatever she needed as 'urgent.'"

Lizzie resisted the urge to ask if the 'urgent' matter was the tablecloths being colored October Sky rather than Summer Peach and trailed after Will. He was as neatly dressed as ever, in contrast to her haphazard state; a flawless picture except for the dark shadows underneath his eyes. She frowned. "You didn't sleep well."

To her bemusement, his jaw squared and a hint of pink effused his skin. "No," he said curtly, stepping into the elevator, a massive construction of limestone framed with steel. "I was distracted by – by business."

"Oh," she murmured. She pressed the button for the ground floor. Remembering Marie's and her colleagues' multiple emails yesterday, she felt an unexpected surge of sympathy for Will. Especially since, as an equity partner, he was likely even more swamped than she. "The firm isn't giving you trouble for taking a week off, is it?"

He appeared taken aback. "Not really."

They lapsed back into determined efforts not to look at one another.

When the elevator completed its six-floor journey, Lizzie was all too happy to exit. Yet she couldn't help darting a glance at Will out of the corner of her eye. He stood straight and tall, slightly intimidating gaze firmly trained on the doors – until surreptitiously, he, too, peeked towards not her face or figure but her left hand.

The elevator doors pinged open. Lizzie nearly crashed into Kate upon exiting, ducking out of the way and catching a nearby table with her hip in the process.

"I can't _believe _this!" The older woman waved her arms frantically, thin fuchsia lips mouthing something indeterminable. Her enormous earrings – turnips, today – bobbed distractingly. "It's a mess! A huge _mess_!"

"Absolutely," Lizzie placated as she ushered Kate towards the couch to the side of the lobby. "What's wrong?"

"It's just – oh, he's _gone_!"

"Who's gone?" Will inquired calmly.

Lizzie snuck a look at him over Kate's shaking shoulders. Although he wore a coolly polite mask, the tightness around his eyes trumpeted his impatience to those familiar with it. (And she had _definitely_ been on the receiving end of that expression enough to recognize it.)

"The irresponsible idiot!"

She smothered her amusement at the growing tic in Will's jaw. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize whoever that is."

"Mr. Chernoff!"

"The _photographer_?"

"Yes, the photographer! They've never done this before – I could have sworn by their reliability – the wedding guests arrive _tomorrow_ – "

Gently taking Kate's hand, Lizzie winced faintly as the particular sharp ridges of one oversized turquoise ring dug into her skin. She knew it didn't speak well for her character that she had to hide a smile in the face of such distress – but really, Kate's gasps were _so _dramatic and Will was trying _so _hard to hide his discomfort with wailing women.

"When was the last time you tried to contact the company?" she asked.

"Two days ago," Kate replied. Judging by her steadying breaths, the woman was beginning to compose herself. Still, Lizzie wondered why someone of Kate's profession would react so intensely to crises – it wasn't as if every wedding ran smoothly, at least according to her friends' constant stream of rom-coms. "But I've been trying to get in touch with them all week, and they still haven't responded."

Will's fingers stopped their silent drumming. His eyebrows rose. "They haven't notified you of their absence?" _Of all the stupid incompetents_, Lizzie could imagine him adding in snobby, clipped British accents, like those of swashbuckling dukes from Regency romances. (Yes, she'd been spending too much time with Charlotte lately.)

"No, they have not! They're usually quite reliable – I'm at an absolute loss – "

About to interject with some soothing pleasantry, Will beat her to the punch. "Swanson Photography?"

"Yes," said Kate. The name Swanson did ring a bell in her mind, now that he'd said it, but how had he remembered the tidbit when it couldn't have been mentioned to the two of them more than once?

"A moment." He stood, phone in hand, and walked away.

Kate's eyes followed his retreating form. "Well," she said, with a fair amount of astonishment.

"Sorry about that," Lizzie felt compelled to offer with an apologetic smile. She absently twisted a thick brunette lock around her finger. _Presumptuous man_, she thought, but it was an almost fond sort of annoyance. "He can be a little abrupt at times."

Kate's cornflower blue eyes widened, deepening the creases that copious use of concealer couldn't quite hide. "No, that's not what I meant at all! He's so very – _capable_," she sighed, clasping bejeweled hands together. "And handsome, too." She giggled in a way that might have been flirtatious had she been twenty years younger. "If I'd only met him before Marcus…well, too late for regrets now, isn't it? You caught a good one there. Hang on to him."

"Oh." The sound escaped Lizzie's lips with a puff of cold air. Each one of the requisite twelve muscles to smile strained upwards. The room suddenly felt chilly. "I'm not – we're not together."

It was the other woman's turn to fidget. "Right," she said awkwardly. "That's a beautiful ring anyway – can I hope to see the lucky man during the wedding?"

Dread rising, Lizzie realized the diamond studded band still hadn't come off her left hand. It sparkled under the bright hotel lights, taunting her, and somehow, her mother's ring – a gaudy, four-carat monstrosity – came to mind. The connection didn't quite make sense: the ring Will had chosen for her was tasteful if extravagant, ensuring the two appeared nothing alike. Still, she couldn't shake the image of her mother's wedding ring on her own finger.

The soft click of polished oxfords contacting the ground snapped her out of her fanciful daze. Cool grey eyes narrowed in on Kate, purposefully avoiding Lizzie. "I called Swanson's Chicago office," Will informed them, words clipped and businesslike. "They're apparently overbooked – they referred us to this address."

Metal grazed Lizzie's right index finger. Upon the realization that she'd been absently stroking the ring, Lizzie jerked her hand away. Will's gaze flickered towards the movement and shuttered over.

"A response! That's wonderful!" Kate beamed. "But I have a lunch date with my husband right about now, actually – would you mind terribly if I left this to you?"

Lizzie glared incredulously at the wedding planner. "Wouldn't you know Mr. Chernoff much better than Will and I?"

"Well, yes," Kate conceded, "but I really can't miss this, you see – Marcus does the most _amazing _things with his tongue – "

"That's fine," Will interrupted, faintly green. "We'll go."

* * *

They hailed a cab at the corner of the street. When it rolled to a gradual stop in front of them, Lizzie reached for the front door – and found her hand right on top of Will's. Goosebumps flared along her arm. They both froze.

"Sorry." Her weak chuckle was at least an octave too high. "I'm just used to sitting shotgun." She made for the back seat.

He shook his head. "No, feel free."

"I really insist – "

"No, it's yours –"

The driver poked his head out the window. His ginger beard quivered with impatience. "Are the two of you coming or not?"

"Yeah, we are," Lizzie answered, reddening. They both slid into the back. Her shoulder brushed the door when she slammed it shut.

They left as much space as possible between them. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. His very presence disoriented her; the awareness between them was electric. As raindrops began to gather on the windshield, she stole a glance at him; his strong profile was austere and impassive as ever. She shuddered slightly and wrapped her arms around her chest.

He turned towards her immediately, those piercing eyes full of concern. "Is it too cold?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You're shivering." His tone brooked no protest. He draped his jacket around her shoulders; this time, his hands didn't linger. She tried not to feel disappointed.

(But she was.)

Minutes passed.

"Hey, Will?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, drawing the jacket tightly over her shoulders and inhaling the faint scent of mint.

He shook his head. "You've already apologized for that morning. We both weren't at our best – "

"No." She met his eyes, then, chocolate on steel. "Not just for that."

For the most infinitesimal of seconds, she thought she saw pain in the depths of those perennially veiled grey eyes. And then his lips were on hers, his hands cradling her face, and she didn't push him away. Rather, her arms moved of their own volition to draw him closer.

When they came up for air after what felt like a full minute later, Will didn't move from his hold circling her waist.

"I think I owe you a belated apology, too," he murmured hesitantly.

A crease showed on Lizzie's forehead. "For what?"

"When I first met you." She opened her mouth to stop him. (She didn't want to fight, not now.) Will held up a hand. "Just hear me out, please."

She shouldn't. This was a last moment of weakness. A bittersweet goodbye. Her lips and tongue formed a denial.

"Okay," she said instead, voice small.

"I came up with a thousand reasons to justify what I said about you the following week. Charles broke protocol interviewing you. Associates are forbidden from involving themselves in the hiring of a relative. All the opening in the firm were already filled. The team didn't want another member." Lizzie stiffened, and felt his grip tighten in response. "Regardless, there's no excuse. I was an ass."

She must have misheard.

"What?"

"I'm an ass."

Her vision blurred. She had to swallow the insane urge to laugh. It was like an implosion of warmth and fuzziness had invaded her bloodstream.

"You know," she whispered in complete, utter shock, "that might just be the sweetest thing a guy's ever said to me."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he became serious again. "As far as the Jane fiasco goes, I was fully convinced I was doing right at the time. Charles was impossibly committed to a relationship. He would write three pages worth of emails to her nightly and constantly wait for her to respond. Her correspondence was much more limited than his. I thought the relationship one-sided and unhealthy and did my best to convince Charles to break it off. When it became obvious how unhappy Charles was without Jane, though, I also gave my full support to their reconciliation."

Lizzie's mind reeled. He was not lying. Will was blunt to the point of rudeness and always honest (literally to a fault). Still, if what he said was true, she'd misjudged him enormously. And what she'd said to him –

_As far as 'getting along well enough' goes, I was so buzzed that I could have married anyone who was there._

_You're rude, arrogant and completely oblivious to the feelings of anyone who's not the Great Fitzwilliam Darcy!_

Her cheeks flooded with color. How could he still care for her? Considering how she'd acted towards him, there was no way he could love her. Her stomach dropped; she felt strangely ill. _Momentary infatuation is not love._ Her father had made the same mistake and fallen for a pretty face, so many years ago; that marriage ended in disaster.

"Lizzie?" For the first time, she found he sounded uncertain.

She took a deep breath to stave off the approaching panic attack. "Will, I need time," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's so much – "

He released her.

"I understand," he said.

But she knew he didn't_._

* * *

A/N: It's been a while. I'm hugely grateful to reviews, favorites, and alerts, and all the support in general, and I'll definitely be answer questions / replying to constructive criticism :) I was slightly disappointed by the response for the last chapter, and combined with other things going on in real life, my writing speed definitely slowed. Sorry for the delay, and please review! It motivates me to keep writing :)

-Saelia

Update on locations:

I realized that locations were confusing thanks to a very helpful review. To clarify:

Living in Boston: The Bennets' home is in Boston, MA. Lizzie grew up there, as did the Lucases, the Bingleys and the Hursts. Basically, everyone except Lizzie, the Darcies, Bingley, Jane, Wickham, and Charlotte live in Boston at the time of Jane's wedding.

Living in Chicago: Jane, Bingley, Lizzie, Will, Charlotte. Jane went to Northwestern for college and stayed in the area. Charlie joined her and found a job at the same Chicago law firm as Darcy. Lizzie went to UChicago for law school and found a job there as well. Charlotte lives in the same apartment building as Lizzie - they're still best friends. [The week before Jane's wedding, Caroline Bingley and the Hursts were visiting their brother in Chicago.]

In Vegas: Wickham.


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